The Last Scion
by Kirishtu
Summary: What really happened during Murtagh's capture? Forbidden magic, forgotten races, ancient allies, Murtagh is tasked with the greatest mission of all - saving his own brother.
1. Chapter 1

Originally posted on aff 2009-07-05 - 2010-10-12

... - Ancient Language is being spoken

Captured!

Murtagh's legs burned. His lungs burned and blood ran freely into his eyes, blinding him. He couldn't tell what direction he was being forced to walk in, only that the darkness clouding his mind allowed him enough liberty that he could move and not much else. His hands were bound tight behind his back both by rope and magic and so when he fell he had no hope of catching himself before real damage could be inflicted. He remembered bits and pieces – fighting with Ajihad and the Twins against the Urgals; being attacked from behind by magic as something else tore into his mind – and he knew not what had happened to the Varden's leader. He knew not if Ajihad still lived. Murtagh knew he and his captors were still in the Beor Mountains, far from Farthen Dûr and any semblance of aid from the Varden, the dwarves, or Eragon and Saphira. The black haired youth fought to clear his vision, wanting to look upon his enemies and discover the best way to destroy them and escape. Unfortunately, the Urgals kept moving at a horribly grueling pace, making sure Murtagh had no chance to rest and, more importantly, no chance to retaliate. Magic washed through him, revitalizing his body for more brutal pain, but it kept him going. And as far as Murtagh cared, as long as he was alive, he would endure anything. He would get free whether under his own power or negligence from his captors, and he would run the wilds to get back to Eragon.

Eragon. Would he even realize Murtagh was gone? Would he realize he was alive? Would Eragon being a search for him? Murtagh had to cling to that hope if only because it gave him something to use to keep his spirit up. He refused to believe that he would be abandoned again and railed against the idea that Eragon would abandon him. While they held different views on the world, they were still friends, and friends did not abandon each other. Not like parents abandoned their child. In that dark hour, Murtagh dwelled on the memory of his mother. For all her skills, she could have saved him from his father. Selena was able to leave the castle time after time, and yet she left him to rot in his father's care, and when Morzan had met his end, to the care of Galbatorix. In her abandonment, she had caused the death of Tornac, and had caused Murtagh to become the man he was today – bitter and jaded, and highly honourable. He had an idea of where he was being taken and clung to his hope and his honour and hoped Eragon would mount a rescue. He simply had to endure until then.

Murtagh was out of breath when a halt was called and that bloody blindfold was washed away as frigid water was dumped over his and spluttering, Murtagh cracked one dark eye open and felt the entire colour drain from his face. He stared up at the Urgals andtwo identical men who were supposed to be his allies. The Varden's allies. One of the Twins looked down at Murtagh and grinned.

"So nice to see you awake, Murtagh Morzansson." He said in a giddy, querulous voice.

"Shut up." Murtagh snarled, twisting his bound hands to try and free them. Before the rope even had a chance to come loose, it tightened and pain wracked his body. Though he grit his teeth to keep himself from screaming, he still whimpered when the pain ended.

"Do you know, Murtagh, that you shouldn't talk back to us?"

"After all, we hold your life in our hands."

Murtagh panted, glaring at the Twins, feeling blood dribble down his chin from where he had bitten his lip. "Even if you kill me, all I will be is a martyr."

The Twins laughed as one. "Kill you?"

"No, we won't kill you. You see, Galbatorix wants you alive."

"And how do you think Lord Galbatorix will react when we tell him our secret?"

Murtagh's body drew taut as another spell crashed into his senses, and this time Murtagh did scream as his body contorted. He tried to focus on a far-off memory, to try and block out the pain. It stopped abruptly and the boy gasped for air, feeling as if his lungs were too small to hold all the air he needed. Sweat rolled down his face from the pain, and by the time Murtagh had managed to get something resembling control, all he could hear was raucous laughter coming from the Twins. A hand buried in his hair and yanked his head up so Murtagh was forced to stair into one of the Twins' eyes.

"What's the matter, Murtagh?" the man said cruelly. "Want to know our secret?"

Murtagh gathered enough strength to spit into his captor's eyes. The Twin yelped and threw Murtagh's head back. Murtagh grit his teeth against the sharp pain and screamed again as more magic-induced pain was forced into his body. When it was over, Murtagh could hardly move, sweat and blood and tears on his skin making him shiver. There was guttural speech above him but he could not understand, only that some of what was being said was concerning him. Someone knelt beside him and placed a large hand on his shoulder. It wasn't meant to be a comforting gesture, but the touch alone gave Murtagh some reason to fight, opening his eyes to look up at an Urgal, shivering. The Urgal just stared at him with the eyes of a slave under a spell, but the creature's lips twitched into something resembling a smile. It was short lived, but Murtagh felt hope, and he was lifted up to stand on shaking legs. He couldn't keep his balance and fell forward to his knees, giving a groan as his knees took the brunt of his fall. He was simply hauled up again and forced to stand, the Urgal showing no mercy to the human. One of the Twins smirked at the young man.

"Are you sure you do not wish to know our secret?" he asked the hurting boy. "Are you sure you do not wish to know what we do?"

Murtagh snarled. "Anything you say now will be a lie."

The Twins laughed in unison before they pointed at Murtagh's heart. "What reason do we have to lie to you, when you know the truth with your own heart?"

Perhaps Murtagh's eyes gave the Twins the confidence to continue their teasing, or perhaps Murtagh gave them unspoken permission. Whatever the case may have been the Urgal who had helped Murtagh to stand held him steady as the Twins came forward, leaning close to the young man's ears.

"You are not the only one who possesses your father's name," they hissed together. "Your mother gave birth to one more brat. You know him so very well, Murtagh."

Murtagh recoiled, eyes wide. "No!" he yelled in denial. "You're lying!"

"Are we?" The Twins chortled. "You saw her in him! You saw your mother's eyes in his own! Eragon is your brother!"

Murtagh snarled and strained against the Urgal holding him still, trying to attack the Twins in denial of their words. The Twins pulled back, laughing, and Murtagh screamed as his body seized with the throes of another spell, muscles cramping as he crumpled to the ground. When the spell stopped, Murtagh was hardly coherent, crying unashamedly. A boot scuffed beside his head.

"Strip him."

Helpless, Murtagh felt his body manipulated, felt his clothes and belongings ripped from his body and left unceremoniously in the tunnel. More hands touched at his skin, human hands, and a robe that smelled strongly of horses covered his naked form. He gasped out in pain as he was forced to his feet and forced to walk. A rope was lashed about his neck and hissing voices cast spell after spell on him, ensuring the young man couldn't escape unaided. Murtagh's world was a blur for the next few hours. Herded along by Urgals, Murtagh let his mind wander. His thoughts focused on Eragon and he wondered how he didn't see it before. True, Eragon had never told Murtagh his mother's name, Murtagh should've seen Selena in his brother's eyes. They couldn't possibly be related. It was a lie. His mother had died when Murtagh had been three, months after Morzan had wounded him with Zar'roc. He closed his eyes and fought against despair. Despite all, he believed the lie, believed that Eragon was his younger brother. Too much made sense. Selena's strange disappearances, after Morzan had exploded in a drunken rage. Had Morzan known Selena carried another son?

Murtagh dropped to his knees when the Twins called another halt, and looked up into the clear night sky. Farthen Dûr was behind them by nearly a mile, and the Hadarac lay ahead. The ensorcelled rope around his neck tightened, but Murtagh hardly had the strength to resist any longer. If the Twins had been more confident in keeping their prisoner in their grasp, no doubt they could keep Murtagh heeled with just food and water alone. The young man drank the offered water greedily, not caring if it was poisoned or foul in some way. What mattered was that it was water and it would sustain him. He ate just as greedily, having not eaten for what seemed to be weeks, but Murtagh managed to get a hold of his self-control at the last moment, and looked up to see the Twins smiling at him as if they had seen him become an animal. Murtagh tensed, but tonight, they left him alone. He couldn't sleep, lying awake and cold among his Urgal guard. He watched the stars, hoping, wishing, they could ease the turmoil inside him. Murtagh knew where the Twins were taking him and to whom he would be given to. If he couldn't escape, then he had to fight in a different way. Murtagh needed to protect Eragon and Saphira; he refused to be used against them.

Dawn came far too soon, driving away the stars and the comforting darkness. Murtagh had formed his plan, though, and he was prepared for the pain of the Twins' spells. They cast spell after spell on him, and when they failed to get the reaction they desired, they changed tactics. This time, Murtagh did scream as claws tore into his mind, shredding and tearing as if they were insects eating him from the inside out.

"Resist us," one Twin hissed, "and we'll destroy you."

"You are vulnerable, Murtagh." The other said, chuckling. "We know all your secrets. Your dark little dreams. You're alive by our will."

Murtagh snarled and swallowed his scream and head-butted the Twin closest to him. The injured Twin fell back clutching his nose and Murtagh experienced a flash of sheer joy at the sight of blood before a spell wracked his body with such intensity his body arched back and there was a distinct pop in his spine. The spell didn't stop, and Murtagh was screaming still when the spell was released. Blood ran freely down his chin from a harsh bite to his tongue and sweat and tears mixed to sting his eyes. An Urgal hauled him up and held him by his upper arm as Murtagh's legs shook too much to hold his weight. The Twin with the bloody nose grabbed Murtagh's chin and forced the young man to look into his eyes.

"Fight all you want, boy, but your fate is sealed. You will never escape us."

Murtagh stared, panting, and mustered enough strength to spit blood into the Twin's eyes. As the one holding his chin recoiled, his brother slammed a fist into Murtagh's diaphragm. The dark-haired boy let out a sound that was a mix of pain and a fierce exhale, and Murtagh slumped in the Urgal's hold, drifting in and out of consciousness. He focused his eyes on one of the Twins and watched, numb, as a finger was pointed toward him. He waited for the spell to be cast, for the pain, but it never came. The Urgal holding him jerked up on his arm and tossed Murtagh over its shoulder as if the human were a sack of potatoes. The march began again.

Murtagh watched the ground move as he was carried away from the rocks and smooth stone of Farthen Dûr, through tunnels and back out into sunlight so bright his eyes watered. He was dropped only when the Twins deemed it necessary to rest for food and water, two things Murtagh very much wanted and was denied. The days wore on like this the further away from the Dwarven vale the strange party went. Murtagh was given very little water and even less food, mostly alive due to a few rejuvenation spells one of the Twins cast on him. When he was given the precious items, he took them warily, now more concerned with the quality of than the quantity. Murtagh was no stranger to starvation, having experienced such a thing during his training as a youngster. He was more concerned with what the food and water might be laced with, but eventually, he did give in to his body's demands and wolfed down what was offered.

A week after his capture, estimated if only because Murtagh's glimpses of the sun and moon were sparse, they finally exited the mountain range of the Beor and entered the sands of the Hadarac.

To Murtagh, it felt as though his journey was reversing itself, as only a few weeks ago he traversed these same sands with Eragon and Saphira. He had been heading to freedom then. Now he was heading for slavery, and, if Murtagh was extremely lucky, death.

They rested during the day to avoid the worst of the sun's heat and traveled at night despite the frigid temperature. Murtagh used the darkness to his advantage, managing to loosen the ropes around his wrists long enough to steal a small dagger from one of his Urgal guards. He wrapped the dagger in the folds of his robe and settled to plot his escape. He needed to be methodical about it, and go about it slowly so his captors didn't catch on to what he was doing. He worked first on fraying the rope around his neck, carefully slicing through the thick cord where it was knotted in the noose. He did this lying down when they rested only so he wouldn't slit his own throat. When the knot was frayed enough that a simple jerk would rend it apart, Murtagh focused on his foes.

He would have to deal with the Urgal guarding him first. Then he could slip past the perimeter guards easily enough. He knew the way back to Farthen Dûr and with any luck, Eragon would be flying overhead to spot him. He marked his trail with small piles of loose pebbles when he was able, and when the sky darkened with no sign of a moon, Murtagh took the chance offered him.

He pretended to stumble and yanked on the rope about his neck. The abused knot tore loose and Murtagh threw the noose away as he scrambled to run. He dropped the ropes about his wrists and drew his knife as his Urgal keeper came after him. Murtagh ducked under the Urgal's outstretched hand and rammed his ill-gotten weapon between its ribs. The Urgal looked somewhere between shocked and overjoyed, but Murtagh didn't stay to watch it die. He pulled out his weapon and disappeared into the dunes.

He ran as long as he could, finding his markers and following them as hope swelled in his heart. He was going to make it! He was going to be free! Murtagh dragged his aching, sore body up an incline and rolled down the other side, landing in a heap at the bottom of the dune. He lay there panting, covered in sweat and feeling horribly thirsty. Murtagh rested only a moment before he forced himself up and pressed on.

It was nearing nightfall and Murtagh was positive he'd made no progress through the unforgiving Hadarac. His feet burned and ached and his skin was red and raw from the wind and sun. His lungs burned and his mouth was dry. Still, he pressed on, hoping to find an oasis before he died of dehydration.

Murtagh collapsed from exhaustion at dawn and dragged his body a few more feet before his arms finally gave out. How long he lay there he didn't know, but he thought he saw a dragon circling in the sky above him. The vulture landed beside Murtagh and cocked its head at him, waiting for him to die.

*So this is how it ends then,* Murtagh thought. *Am I doomed to become a gentle memory?* The vulture squawked viciously as another shadow fell over Murtagh. Rough hands of the Urgals yanked him up by the back of his collar, and Murtagh hung there, listless and nearly lifeless. The Twins approached with the rest of the Urgal horde they commanded and looked at Murtagh with distaste.

"Bring him." One Twin commanded.

The Urgal obeyed, carrying Murtagh by the scruff as if he were a puppy. It dropped him at the Twins' feet and grunted. Murtagh's dark eyes focused on their faces and he saw hatred there.

"You've caused us too much trouble, son of Morzan." One spat. "Be grateful we can't kill you."

"However, we can punish you." The second twin said, and he pointed a finger at the young man. "If ropes cannot hold you, perhaps spells can."

Murtagh recoiled as that finger touched his forehead. He hated that touch, wanted it gone, but two strong Urgal hands were on his shoulders, forcing him to keep still.

The Twin bared his teeth in a savage grin. " Fall ill if you run from us. Feel ill if you think of fleeing ."

Murtagh screamed and writhed against his captors as he felt the spell adhere to his skin. He didn't understand what the Twin was saying, but he knew enough to realize his attempts to escape were over. His body wracked with pain from another assault of torturous spells and Murtagh collapsed against the hold of the Urgals. He couldn't endure any more and gratefully fell into the blackness on unconsciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

/.../ - ancient language

-...- - telepathy

Urû'baen

Murtagh's days passed in a blur. He was deprived of water, sleep, and food and attacked with spells that made his muscles seize and his breath leave him as if he'd been kicked by a horse. They left the Hadarac Desert two weeks after his capture, and halfway through the third, Murtagh saw the fortress of Urû'baen in the distance. He was bound by rope and by spells as the week wore on and soon the Urgals were left behind, as the foul party grew closer to civilization. Whatever the Twins did to the Urgals, Murtagh didn't see, but he felt regret for the creatures. They, like him, had been forced to this fate.

The Twins did little to clean Murtagh up as they passed into Urû'baen and began the steady climb to the castle, and Galbatorix. Murtagh's skin felt as though a thick layer of dirt had decided to make a new home on him and he desperately wanted a bath. Even more, he wanted to escape here, but the spells prevented that.

Eventually, the Twins and their captive strode into the throne room where Galbatorix and half a dozen guards waited. Murtagh saw a few nobles he recognized and many more he didn't, and felt a pang of glee as he realized the Twins had just interrupted a social function. Murtagh's eyes focused on the man sitting in the throne at the far end of the room and tried to prepare mental shields for this upcoming struggle. The Twins bowed with a flourish but Murtagh remained standing.

Galbatorix's gaze swept over Murtagh briefly and focused on the Twins. "Are you going to kneel there or do you have a reason to interrupt me?" the King asked in a tone that sounded amused.

The Twins rose as one. "My Lord," they said. "We have killed the Varden's leader and brought you a sweet prize. Before you stands the son of your old ally, Morzan."

Murtagh closed his eyes at the gasps and murmurs and felt as if he were on display. When all fell silent, Murtagh opened his eyes and found Galbatorix pinning the Twins with a hard stare.

"Tell me," Galbatorix said softly, "is that how you treat a prince?" He gestured at Murtagh. "The poor thing is covered in filth, bound even! Do you treat princes this way?"

The Twins glanced at each other. "No, my lord, but–"

Galbatorix made a sound and interrupted the mages. "No. You don't treat princes like this. So tell me why is he covered in filth like a commoner?"

Though the mad King did not yell, the Twins flinched as if he had. Murtagh stared blankly at Galbatorix, wondering what the man was trying to pull. Galbatorix rose from his throne and stepped down the dais toward Murtagh. He touched the young man's forehead and Murtagh felt the Twins' spell break when Galbatorix uttered, "Be gone." He thought he would collapse in amazement as the King carefully untied his ropes and dropped them to the floor.

"Prince Murtagh is to be extended every courtesy." Galbatorix told the Twins. "Never forget that he outranks you." The King turned to summon a slave and whispered into her ear. She nodded and handed off her wine pitcher to one of her companions before approaching Murtagh. "Go with her, Murtagh. She will take you to your quarters."

Before Murtagh could question the King's sudden good will, the slave took hold of his elbow and pulled him from the throne room. He noticed that Galbatorix was now focused on the Twins and secretly Murtagh hoped they would find ill favour waiting for them.

His chambers were exactly as he had left them, though they were spotlessly clean. The slave didn't speak as she drew him a bath and heated the water. He stared at her when she moved to help him undress and he batted her hands away.

"I'm perfectly capable of washing myself, thank you." Murtagh growled. The slave looked amused but nodded and left the young man to wash.

Layers of dirt and blood sloughed off and regretfully, Murtagh had to call the slave back when he couldn't figure out how his bath worked. She showed him and laughed soundlessly as he tried to cover up his nudity. He washed fiercely, hoping his blush would be covered by soap. With his hair and body clean, Murtagh dressed in the fine velvet and silk tunic and trousers the slave had set out for him and severely missed his cloth and linen clothes. Shiny black boots waited for him and he pulled those on after he belted his pants. The slave returned to brush his hair, braiding it neatly so it hung in a tail down his back.

She hurried to leave when she was finished and Murtagh turned to face Galbatorix as he entered. The King gave Murtagh an appraising glance and nodded with a half-smile.

"You look so much like your father," Galbatorix said. "I only wish he could be around to see how much you've grown."

Murtagh frowned. "What do you want?"

"Only to speak with you as a friend." Galbatorix's voice seemed scandalized, but Murtagh knew the truth. "The Twins told me some interesting things and I merely wish to confirm them."

"I won't tell you anything." Murtagh swore. "And you were never my friend."

Galbatorix's face twisted. "Now this is why I hate it when offspring have a sense of honour. Tell me what I want to know, Murtagh, or I will make you tell me."

"Go to hell."

Galbatorix shrugged. "We'll play your way. Sit!"

Murtagh's teeth clacked hard together when his body dropped into the chair at his bureau. Galbatorix moved closer and placed his hands on either side of Murtagh's head. "Don't resist," the mad King said gaily, "or this will hurt."

Murtagh screamed as a flood of spells in the Ancient Language escaped Galbatorix, crashing against Murtagh's mental barriers. It went on for hours before Galbatorix was able to break down Murtagh's barriers, and he swept inside the young man's mind as if Murtagh had simply invited him. Murtagh writhed as Galbatorix picked through memories, seeking his answers.

-So it's true.- Galbatorix said. -You are the eldest of Morzan's brats. What other secrets do you have?-

-Get out of my head!- Murtagh screamed. Galbatorix dug deeper.

Memories of Eragon flashed up, detailing the boy at great length for Galbatorix. Then Galbatorix turned his attention to Saphira.

-She is beautiful, isn't she?- Galbatorix asked. -She will be a beautiful queen.-

-What… are you talking about?- Murtagh cried out as Galbatorix withdrew from Murtagh's mind.

"She is the last." Galbatorix said smugly. "The last female dragon to walk Alagaësia. She is special to me for that reason." Galbatorix gestured and two guards moved into Murtagh's room. The mad King looked at Murtagh with a smile. "I'm not done with you. You have plenty more to tell me, and I intend to learn all of your secrets."

Murtagh managed to spit at Galbatorix and earned a bone-shattering slap. "Take him!" Galbatorix snarled. "Throw him in with the dragon eggs. Keeping him in the dungeon will invite trouble."

The guards dragged Murtagh from his chambers and through the castle until they reached the hatchery and threw him into the darkness. Murtagh landed hard and rolled to a stop against a pile of hay. The door closed and the lock fell heavily into place. Shaking and shivering in the dark, Murtagh gave a wordless yell of rage until he ran out of breath. Then he lay on the cold stone, fighting not to cry.

"I'm sorry, Eragon," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

Murtagh saw daylight sparingly over the next few days. Galbatorix visited him often and for long, excruciatingly painful hours. Only when Murtagh became senseless did the immortal King stop to let the boy rest and eat, but it would begin again until Galbatorix himself grew exhausted. Murtagh was chained to the wall by his ankle after an incident with a guard and a spell kept him from attacking anyone who entered the hatchery.

Galbatorix didn't want to kill him, not when he could still use him. When the king had gotten all the information he could from Murtagh, he allowed the slaves to light the sconces in the hatchery and allowed Murtagh to exercise albeit a longer, stronger chain now bound the young man. It suited Murtagh for the moment, for it allowed him to explore the room that had once been filled with hundreds of eggs, waiting for the day their Rider came to them. Now, two eggs, a red and a green, only occupied the space. Murtagh often studied both eggs, picking up each one and holding them a while before placing them back on their nest.

He toyed with his hair, braiding it and unbraiding it, doing whatever he could to keep from going mad. Visits from the King brought pain and Murtagh slowly realized the twisted man was looking for something other than information on Saphira and Eragon. That unnerved Murtagh more than if Galbatorix had suddenly declared Murtagh hero of the Empire. When the King's visits became few and far between, Murtagh felt a pang of fear that Galbatorix had found what he wanted.

The young man paced during his waking hours, chewing on his thumbnail, wondering what Galbatorix had found. He dwelled on Eragon and that maybe the boy had been captured, but that was unlikely. Eragon was surrounded by people who would protect him, never mind Saphira.

So what was it then?

Murtagh dwelled on a thousand possibilities but came no closer to a concrete answer. When he slept, he dreamed of his brother, as if something was trying to show him the path he should take. Sometimes, he didn't dream at all. When he was awake, he tried to do something constructive and only succeeded in chipping away rust flakes from his chain. He estimated he had been in his prison for at least three weeks and so when he heard the chirping, he knew he had finally gone mad.

Murtagh sat up and stared across the hatchery at the two eggs nestled so lovingly together. The chirping began again, as if trying to draw his attention. Slowly, Murtagh rose and ambled over to the two eggs, watching in awe as the red egg began to shiver and shake. Murtagh collapsed to his knees and watched the crimson shell begin to crack, hair-thin lines running down from a central point on top of the shell. A circular crack slowly appeared as the creature inside fought to get out, and the more the tiny dragon pushed the more cracks spider-webbed out.

Murtagh resisted reaching out and helping the little dragon, but he leaned closer. "Come on, little one. You can do it."

The dragon squeaked in reply and shoved against its shell hard enough for the whole thing to roll toward Murtagh. A tiny snout shoved out of the broken shell then disappeared for a crimson eye to peer out at Murtagh.

"Come on." Murtagh whispered. "You can do it. Just a little more." Murtagh's heart was racing. With what he knew because of Eragon, a dragon only hatched for its Rider. Which meant this little dragon had chosen Murtagh and Murtagh was a Dragon Rider! He was afraid, though, because if he was indeed a Rider then he was trapped within Galbatorix's clutches, and so was his little dragon. "Just a little more."

What would happen if Galbatorix discovered Murtagh was a Rider? What sort of torture would he be forced to endure? And never mind Murtagh's torture, what about the little red's?

The dragon squeaked and broke Murtagh's thoughts. Murtagh clenched his fists and decided whatever happened, happened. He would find a way out of it. The dragon's snout pushed through enough that Murtagh saw tiny white spikes on the dragon's cheeks.

-Like little thorns.- Murtagh thought. He reached to steady the egg with his left hand. The wiggles began soon after he touched the shell, and the little red fought to be free with a new energy.

The shell broke a little more and finally shattered as the dragon's claws rent it from within. The little creature tumbled into Murtagh's arms and nuzzled against Murtagh's neck, chirping the whole while. The young man closed his arms around the little creature and shuddered. Murtagh stroked the little red's back, fingers running over the pebbles that would become dangerous spikes when the hatchling was older. The dragon turned its neck to snuggle Murtagh's left hand and Murtagh was mused until his hand seemed to catch fire. He yelled and fell back, clutching his wrist as the fire traveled up his palm, into his wrist, and then up his arm to his brain. He writhed on the floor, unable to breathe as the fire continued to assault his senses and managed a brief thought: I'm going to die.

The fire slowly dulled until Murtagh could feel his hand again, though it was numb and barely supported his weight when the teenager pushed himself up. He stared at his left palm as the skin there shimmered and sparkled with the gëdwey ignasia. Murtagh shuddered.

-Hungry.-

Murtagh jumped at the voice in his head. It was boyish, young, and Murtagh looked down at the dragon in his lap. Intelligent crimson eyes stared back at him and the dragon opened his mouth and gave a short keen.

-Hungry.- The dragon said again. He rubbed his head against Murtagh's tunic and his little, thorny cheek spikes tore the fabric.

"I know." Murtagh answered back. "I know you are. So am I."

The little red chirped and rubbed his head against Murtagh's chest a little more insistently. Murtagh heaved a breath and focused on his dragon's crimson eyes, reaching across a void with his mind. The red's head bobbed when Murtagh made contact and the little dragon brushed Murtagh's mind with his own.

-Human.- The dragon said proudly.

-Dragon.- Murtagh said in wonder. He wondered if Eragon had gone through this with Saphira, and if he had, how he had reacted.

-Mine.- The hatchling nipped Murtagh's fingers as the teenager stroked the thorny cheek spikes.

-Yours. Do you have a name?-

The dragon blinked at him curiously. -Name?-

"A name." Murtagh said aloud, feeling overwhelmed. "Mine is Murtagh."

-Murtagh.- The hatchling repeated. -Mine.-

"Yes, yours." Murtagh replied. "Do you have a name?"

-No. Murtagh.-

"That's my name." Murtagh said with a slight chuckle. "You're a thorny little boy. You keep rubbing against me, you're going to ruin my clothes."

The dragon made a humming sound that told Murtagh he was laughing. Murtagh smiled despite himself and sighed. "I have to call you something."

-Yes. Murtagh.- The dragon spread his wings and chirped.

Murtagh did laugh this time. "I'm Murtagh. You… I think I'll call you Thorn."

-Thorn.- The dragon repeated. -Thorn. Mine?-

"All yours." Murtagh said with a gentle smile. "It's your name, so you have to protect it."

-My name. Thorn.- The red hatchling nuzzled against Murtagh's chest. -My Murtagh.-

Murtagh nodded and stroked Thorn's neck, finally feeling the euphoria of his experience beginning to collide with reality. No doubt Galbatorix would find out about Thorn soon enough and Murtagh didn't know what the future held then. He closed his eyes and shouted into the void -Eragon!- But he received no answer. Thorn hummed as he rubbed against Murtagh's cheek and the brunette teenager scratched at the rough scales of his chest.

He was on his own now.

Murtagh looked at Thorn and swore no matter what happened to him, he would not allow Thorn to be harmed.

Thorn looked up at his Rider and made the same promise.


	3. Chapter 3

The Power of a Name

Murtagh was able to hide Thorn when the slaves came to feed him and give him water. The little dragon ate most of what was offered and nudged the rest to Murtagh when he was full. Thorn was the size of a small cat, but he was slowly getting bigger. If Murtagh was able to hide Thorn a little bit longer, they could break out together. They played together for as long as Murtagh could keep up his energy and napped together against the far wall of the hatchery. Thorn chewed at Murtagh's chain and nuzzled at the green egg as if telling it to hurry and wake up. Murtagh also taught Thorn was little he knew and mostly told him stories about his elder sister Saphira.

Thorn would pretend to be Saphira sometimes as they played, pretending he was big and strong and breathing fire. Murtagh laughed each time an attempt to fly was met with a tumble and Thorn popped up from his heap of wings and legs spewing black smoke in an irritated plume.

But this peace was not to last.

Not three days after Thorn had hatched did the King visit Murtagh. He entered unannounced and stared for a long time at the boy and dragon before his lips curled into a false smile. Murtagh tensed and quickly wrapped his arms around Thorn to keep the dragon from attacking Galbatorix.

"Isn't this interesting," Galbatorix said as he closed the door behind him and approached the pair. "Your father, your brother, and now you."

"Stay away from me!" Murtagh snarled. "And stay away from him!"

Galbatorix chuckled. "Do you honestly think you have a choice, boy? No, I need you. You'll listen to me, one way or another." The King took a step closer.

Murtagh was on his feet and moving as far as the chain allowed him. Thorn huddled in his arms and stared at Galbatorix with fearful crimson eyes, his heart racing as much as Murtagh's. The young Rider knew no matter how far he went, the chain would always stop him. He hit the far wall and had nowhere to go as Galbatorix invaded Murtagh's personal space, grabbing for Thorn. The young dragon shrieked and bit at the King's hands until the madman looked at Murtagh and crooned, "You wouldn't want your precious Rider hurt, would you?"

Thorn growled. -Leave Murtagh alone!-

Murtagh glared at Galbatorix then kicked out with his left leg. The blow didn't have the intended effect, but the King's eyes did widen somewhat in surprise, and the young Rider moved out of reach again.

-Thorn, run for the door. Get out and find Saphira. She'll protect you.-

-I'm not leaving without you!-

Murtagh started to reply when a spell crashed into his back, sending him to the floor, screaming in pain. Thorn fluttered beside Murtagh, crimson eyes focused on Galbatorix as if the hatchling could do something about their predicament. Galbatorix stood over Murtagh with a manic grin, then reached to pick up Thorn by his tail. The little dragon shrieked in fear and pain and Murtagh reacted on instinct. He turned to face Galbatorix and raised his left hand.

"/Drowning water/!" Murtagh yelled in words he didn't know. Galbatorix looked surprised as the red-coloured spell hit him in the chest and then amused when it simply faded away.

His eyes focused on Murtagh. "Did you honestly think I would be vulnerable against a Rider, even one as experienced as you?"

"Put Thorn down." Murtagh ordered, evenly spacing out his words.

"No. I need the little one. Thorn, hm? What an appropriate name." Galbatorix slashed a wicked, amused stare at Murtagh. "If you behave, I might even give him back to you."

Murtagh lunged for Galbatorix but the chain jerked and he fell hard on his stomach. Galbatorix walked away, Thorn in his hand, ignoring the dragon's cries.

-Thorn!- Murtagh yelled. -Be brave!-

-Murtagh! Murtagh!-

-Be brave, Thorn! We'll be together again, I promise!-

But they were separated for a good few weeks. Murtagh knew Thorn was still alive, he could feel him, but he couldn't speak to him. His only guess was that Galbatorix had spelled the hatchery to somehow prevent their communication. That spell couldn't stop the pain, though, and for several hours of a day Murtagh's head would pound as if his brain wanted out of its prison and his stomach would twist and he would be sick. Murtagh cried unashamedly afterward, wanting and needing to be with Thorn. It wasn't fair, he thought. He grew up in the clutches of two madmen, injured by both, and knew only a life of hardship and pain. His brother knew a life of love and, compared to Murtagh's, luxury. It was as if Morzan's sins followed Murtagh everywhere he went while their saint of a mother followed his brother. He tried reaching Thorn, mostly sending base emotions, and once in a while got something in return.

Then the King's guards came to fetch him.

The chains were removed but he was told if one guard felt so much as an inkling his life was in danger, Thorn would be killed.

Murtagh took the threat to heart and followed the guards to the throne room, which was absent of the normal courtiers. Just guards and Galbatorix and now Murtagh. The guards shoved him to his knees before the King, but Murtagh refused to lower his gaze, instead glaring defiantly at Galbatorix. The King chuckled and it was probably only his amusement that kept Murtagh from being physically harmed.

"Come now, Murtagh." Galbatorix said as if he were speaking to an old friend. "Come sit here and talk with me."

"Where's Thorn?" Murtagh asked bitingly, though he didn't move.

"Come and listen, and I'll take you to him."

Murtagh frowned and rose, moving to take a seat beside Galbatorix. His spirit was in turmoil, but he didn't show it, feeling if he betrayed his true feelings Galbatorix would pounce as if he were a predator. "You swear?"

"I swear." Galbatorix leaned back in his throne and crossed his legs at the knee, watching Murtagh settle into his own chair. "How much have you learned from the Varden concerning me? Answer honestly; there will be no punishment for that."

Murtagh licked his lips. "About as much as an enemy is willing to tell the son of a Forsworn."

Galbatorix nodded. "I see." He was silent for some time, staring at Murtagh until the young man felt his skin begin to crawl. "What I'm going to tell you is the truth, Murtagh. Hear me out, and then I will take you to Thorn."

Murtagh bit his cheek and nodded.

"Everyone knows my story," Galbatorix began, talking easily as if divulging a fairytale for the bedtime story, "just as everyone knows why I brought about the liberation. Yes, liberation. You see, Murtagh, the elders had gotten lax and lazy. If you had enough gold, you could be tested until you were old and grey. They gave children of the poor hope and not one became a Rider. Evil? No. Corrupt? Yes. When they denied me that hope, they revealed their true colours. I had to do something to erase the filth that was corrupting our order.

"Now, granted, there were other ways I could have gone about it but there wasn't time, not if I wanted to save the Riders yet to be born. What I did, I did for you and Eragon. So you would grow up knowing freedom and power." Galbatorix looked into Murtagh's eyes, searching the dark orbs as if for a clue to the young man's feelings. "But I made too many mistakes." He continued. "Young Saphira is the only female, Murtagh. The unhatched green is male. She is my key to a new breed of Riders, ones that will know freedom as they should have known it. I just need your help."

"Why would I help you?" Murtagh asked, curbing his snarl. "All you've done is ruin my life. I swore I would never join you."

"I knew you would say that." Galbatorix said in an amused tone. "So I took the liberty of making the choice for you. I can't kill you since you're bonded to the only male that could be capable of becoming the sire of my new dragons, so I've thought of something better. Not quite death, though to you it might amount to the same thing."

Galbatorix rose then and locked Murtagh in place with a simple word from the Ancient Language. He left the chamber for a brief moment, then returned, slowly followed by a large black dragon.

Shruikan, Murtagh realized as those midnight-black eyes focused on him. There was pain in those eyes, sorrow and regret and Murtagh felt the ancient dragon's mind brush his. Murtagh shivered and dipped his head, earning the dragon's amusement. Behind Shruikan came a red dragon half Shruikan's size, walking oddly. The red dragon didn't have Shruikan's panther-like gait, rather bumbling like a bear. Crimson eyes met Murtagh's and a sheer flash of joy rocked the young Rider.

-Murtagh.- The red whimpered. -It hurts so much.-

-Thorn…?-

-It hurts, Murtagh. All I've done is grow and it hurts and the strange magic hurts. I want to bite him but I can't.-

Murtagh glared at Galbatorix. "What the hell did you do to him?!" he demanded. "What did you do to my dragon?!"

"Your dragon?" Galbatorix asked in feigned surprise. "You forget yourself my young friend. Thorn is not yours. He was never yours, just like Saphira was never Eragon's. They all belong to me, Thorn, Shruikan, and Saphira." Galbatorix stepped up to Murtagh and gripped his chin forcefully, not allowing the young man to break eye contact. "You will serve me as your father did. You will ride Thorn to the Empire's victory and Thorn will be the sire of my dragons."

"I will never serve you!" Murtagh snarled. "I'll die before I serve you!"

"While that was my first idea, Thorn has said much the same thing, and I can't wait for the green to hatch." Galbatorix replied cheerily. "So as I forced little Thorn to grow, I discovered two lovely pieces of information."

-Your True Names.- Shruikan rumbled. -He has already bound Thorn. Now you will kneel before your King, Murtagh.- The great dragon's voice dropped to a whisper. -I tried to save you this pain. I'm sorry.-

Murtagh stared up into the King's eyes and felt small, insignificant, as that terrible gaze focused on him. Then Murtagh felt Galbatorix in his mind, rooting through memories like before. Murtagh withstood the assault but eventually began to scream as Thorn bellowed his anger, kept still only by Shruikan.

Galbatorix leaned in close to Murtagh's ear. "Dubshláine, /I bind thee. Swear to me your loyalty, your fealty, your life, and your sword/."

Murtagh jerked and screamed as pain rocked through him, as he felt the chains locking around his throat and wrists. He grabbed at the chains and only met flesh. He collapsed and Thorn was quick to move to pull Murtagh to him with a gentle claw. Beside Thorn, the pain eased, and Murtagh swallowed, choking as he pressed his head to ruby scales.

-I have you, Murtagh.- Thorn whispered. -You're safe with me.-

"Dubshláine," Galbatorix called, "Lorccán. Come and kneel before me."

Murtagh jerked as if he were a puppet and rose on shaky legs, a hand bracing himself on Thorn's shoulder. He couldn't think, and he sank to his knees before Galbatorix.

He repeated oaths told to him in the Ancient Language, and heard Thorn do the same. The weight of the chains grew heavier with each word and when Murtagh's throat was raw and sore, Galbatorix finished his oaths and allowed the pair to do as they wanted, secure in the knowledge they were bound to him forever.

Murtagh went to his chambers first and bathed. He chased out the maid and found his knife, though his hand was kept from ending his life. Instead, he cut the braid of his hair so now the locks fell free to brush his shoulders. It was all he could do, and he dressed quickly to go meet Thorn. The knowledge of his True Name and Thorn's shook him to the core. He knew the power of such knowledge and he knew now the consequences. He stepped out onto the wide deck outside his chamber window and watched Thorn twist out of the air to land on the deck.

Murtagh was quick to put his hands on Thorn's muzzle and press his forehead against the dragon's warm scales, eyes closed tight.

-What happens now?- Thorn asked. Murtagh tried not to cry out in anger. Thorn was still only a hatchling! A hatchling trapped in an adult's body and without a clue as to why he was being tortured this way.

"I don't know," Murtagh answered. "We're slaves now, understand? We have to obey his orders and no matter what, we can't do anything against him."

-I know. Shruikan told me. He has also been training me. He is in a lot of pain.- Thorn's sides heaved in a sigh. -I want to help him.-

"As we are, we can't." Murtagh said.

-But we will learn.- Murtagh looked up into Thorn's crimson eyes.

"What do you mean?"

-He has bound us to him. Shruikan as taught me, so the mad one will teach you. You'll have access to all that is his, so we can learn.-

Murtagh lifted his head and eyed his dragon for a long while. Then he smiled. "You're a genius."

Thorn hummed. -I have you. Besides, the Ancient Language can be manipulated as easily as a wish. He may have bound us by the oaths he had us speak today, but he hasn't made us swear many things. So Shruikan has said.-

"I'll have to thank Shruikan." Murtagh said softly.

-We can behave for him.- Thorn lifted his voice just slightly, giving the statement the taste of a question.

Murtagh stroked Thorn's muzzle. "Yeah," he said softly, "we can behave."

Thorn hummed again and shifted, crouching somewhat so that Murtagh would be able to mount. It took Murtagh a moment to figure out where to settle and with Thorn's help, Murtagh slid into the rider's hollow between Thorn's neck and shoulders.

-You haven't flown yet.- Thorn shook himself as he rose and the young Rider grabbed a tight hold of the ivory white spike in front of him. -I will be gentle.-

"Thanks for the thought." Murtagh said blandly as Thorn stepped to the edge of the terrace. Murtagh looked down at the ground far, far below them and clutched tighter to the spike with both hands. He locked his legs against Thorn's scales and took a deep breath.

-Ready?- Thorn asked, amused.

"Just do it!" Murtagh snapped, already feeling his stomach begin to twist.

Laughing, Thorn jumped from the terrace and fell straight down. He snapped out his wings at the last possible moment and soared back up, riding thermals higher and higher. Murtagh managed not to be sick and looked down at the city below them. They were so high! Murtagh clung tighter to the spike and raised his gaze to what was above him. Thorn soared through the clouds, telling Murtagh everything he had learned during their separation. Murtagh asked questions and Thorn answered them and as they flew together, they felt free.

-Murtagh.- Galbatorix's voice boomed through both their minds, and reality crashed upon the two like a smothering blanket. -Return to Urû'baen at once. Your training is to begin.-

-You heard him.- Murtagh told Thorn. He slumped in his place, closing his eyes. -Let's go.-

Thorn let out a whine but obeyed, turning in a gentle circle to head back to Urû'baen and their unwanted master.


	4. Chapter 4

The Sweet Words Are Poison

Somewhere in his heart, Murtagh knew Galbatorix was lying, was telling him nothing but empty promises, and he knew that if he helped this madman without strict orders by the use of his True Name, he was just as evil as his father Morzan. But Galbatorix's plan was sound and logical and over the weeks of being locked in a room with Galbatorix, Murtagh was beginning to believe the King's plan as an undeniable truth. He told it to Thorn one night and the young dragon rooted Murtagh firmly in a new belief.

-Creating a new breed of Riders is all well and good, but to have them bound to the whim of one man? Who's to say the new Riders won't be like the Forsworn? Who's to say that the new Riders, so entranced by their own power, won't rise up to challenge him? Or bring about a new war amongst their own? All it would take is for one to dissent and we would be where we are now.- Thorn said as Murtagh studied the book in his lap, practicing the spells he had learned that day.

"But the Riders were corrupt. The elves were cowards and creating a new order of Riders under one rule would save a lot of grief." Murtagh argued back.

Thorn sighed. -But whose rule Murtagh? His? Eragon's? Yours? Galbatorix isn't planning to share that power. You know that.-

Murtagh leaned back against Thorn's warm side. "So what do I believe?"

-Whatever you want to.-

Murtagh chewed his thumbnail. "The Empire is secure enough a government, only its ruler is corrupt. Creating a new order of Riders would be good if… if…"

-If they're taught kindness, benevolence, chivalry, then that order would be the best it could be. Riders are meant to be protectors, not gods. As for the Empire, if the right ruler came along, perhaps it wouldn't be as bad as it is now.- Thorn bumped his head against Murtagh's shoulder. Murtagh patted his friend's snout and stared into the black sky above Urû'baen.

"I believe," he began slowly, "the Empire will stay. Its ruler will change and it will be for the better. One day, a new Order of Riders will be established, but they should be answerable to someone."

-Perhaps they will be.- Thorn said. -And we will be free when that happens.-

Murtagh smiled and locked his beliefs away in his heart. Still, believing in his truths didn't stop Galbatorix from repeating his plans while Murtagh studied under his careful, watching eyes. For days he practiced magic, growing stronger in spellcasting, in swordplay, and the Ancient Language. He trained hard with Thorn and Shruikan, learning to fight on dragonback on the ground and in the air. He trained alone, though with Thorn with him, when Galbatorix allowed him to leave Urû'baen.

Though Murtagh felt more comfortable in thick leather, cloth, and chainmail, Galbatorix gave him a suit of armour, just like his father had owned. It was then Murtagh realized what was happening.

To Galbatorix, Murtagh was just Morzan's replacement. As such, he needed to be Morzan, The thought made his stomach churn, but he threw himself into his new tasks with a vigor that made Galbatorix confident. Murtagh knew that, if given the chance, he could one day meet Eragon on the battlefield and tell him of the madman's ravings. Maybe then Eragon would find a way to help him and Thorn.

Murtagh was an almost constant shadow to Galbatorix, standing beside him when the Empire's generals reported in and listening carefully to each word. It was the only news he was able to receive of his brother and the Varden and he contemplated ways of getting messages out. It was a pipe dream, he knew, but it made him feel a little better. He also tried to scry Eragon, but was left with only black voids each time. He soon gave up on that and concentrated on his lessons. Then one night, his education changed. He had mastered all of the spells his foul master had given him and endured the pain for Thorn as the hatchling's body matured at a far faster rate than what was natural. And while he sat against Galbatorix's throne reading a musky old book on dragonlore to Thorn who waited patiently in the eyrie outside Murtagh's room, the young Rider received his first taste of the black magic.

The man was a deserter, a spy for the Varden. At least, that was what Murtagh was told. Whether it was true or not didn't matter, not for this lesson. Murtagh closed the book and got to his feet as Galbatorix swept in and came to stand beside the young man.

"You've grown quite strong," Galbatorix said to Murtagh, "but you are nowhere near the level you need to be to capture your brother."

"Which means what?" Murtagh asked softly, focused on the man kneeling on the floor between two guards.

Galbatorix chuckled. "Which means I'm going to introduce you to a strength that far surpasses anything those elves can muster up."

Murtagh eyed Galbatorix curiously and felt Thorn's apprehension. He carefully opened a visual and auditory link to his dragon, and watched as his vision became pronounced with red.

-What's going on?- Thorn asked.

-I don't know. Be silent and watch. I'll need you to remind me.-

-Remind you of what?-

Murtagh didn't reply, so Thorn settled to watch. Revulsion swept through the dragon as Murtagh was taught foul spell after foul spell, not allowed to rest until he had mastered the phrase and the spell. Though Murtagh showed no emotion on his face or in his body language, Thorn could feel his Rider's revulsion, sadness, and fear and knew he was the only thing keeping Murtagh sane. He soothed his Rider with gentle images and felt powerless to stop this horrible initiation.

These lessons went on for days at a time, repeated over and over with dark secrets and sorcery that was unnatural. Thorn kept a careful link with Murtagh, constantly reminding his Rider of who he was. When Murtagh showed enough mastery of the black magic, Galbatorix gave him strength.

Shruikan warned Thorn to keep silent lest his own Eldunari join Galbatorix's horde. The red dragon trembled as Murtagh was handed an orb and the spell was cast to bind it to the boy. Murtagh yelled and writhed, but he couldn't drop the orb and Thorn felt the void between him and his human shrink as another mind attached itself to Murtagh. Half a day passed and Murtagh had been bound to five Eldunari, their voices overshadowing his own. Galbatorix simply watched with amusement and sat in his throne, chin propped on a closed fist as the young Rider fought to control each Eldunari he'd been given. It took Murtagh three days and Thorn knew Murtagh was in pain. The Eldunari were in Murtagh's consciousness, constant voices screaming for freedom or death or both, and Thorn carefully built a shield to protect Murtagh from their angry voices. Then training began.

-It isn't fair.- Thorn whimpered as he watched Murtagh work with his new, deeper well of magic strength. -We dragons aren't meant to be slaves.-

Shruikan raised his head from his paws and looked at the hatchling dragon before his gaze settled on the red's Rider and the corrupted one. -We are not. But remember who your Rider is. His strength of heart hasn't failed yet.-

-It will never fail.- Thorn snapped back.

-Let us hope that is true. Protect him, Lorccán. Protect him even if it means protecting him from himself.-

Thorn blinked at the great black dragon, and didn't understand his teacher until the red was flying over a massive army that marched for the Burning Plains. Murtagh was silent on his back, heavy and uncomfortable in his black armour, armed with only a hand-and-a-half sword. Thorn filled the flight with stories to ease their apprehension and felt raw amusement from his human. They rested apart from the army at night and flew high during the day to avoid being seen as per orders.

Do not be seen until the time is right; take his life if he will not stand down; and capture Saphira.

Murtagh felt the chains close tighter around him and sighed. Battle started early in the morning and Thorn glided in cloud cover, riding thermals to stay aloft. Murtagh sat with his eyes closed, ignoring everything around him save for Thorn, who gave him constant reports of the happenings below. When it was time, Murtagh to stroke Thorn's neck.

-Thorn?-

-Yes, Murtagh?-

They hung in the air, suspended in silence. Murtagh licked his lips and finally leaned forward to hug the red's neck. -I love you.-

Thorn hummed. -I love you, too.-

-Let's get this over with.- Murtagh sat up and strapped down his legs in Thorn's saddle. -We'll deliver the message and go.-

-What do we do if he resists?- Thorn asked as he angled his wings to glide lower.

-Let me worry about that. You just look scary and imposing, and hopefully enough will scatter.-

Thorn heaved a sigh and fell down as the horns and drums began to play like an ominous herald. The red floated easily down into a ray of light and ignited in a sparkling show of ruby, allowing all on the field to see him. His eyes swept the battlefield and focused on Saphira and he felt joy rush through him. But he couldn't act on it, not yet, and he glided in just a bit closer. Murtagh's legs tightened and Thorn hovered, allowing Murtagh to raise his hand.

-What are you doing?- Thorn asked.

-You remember our orders. 'Take his life'. He never specified whose life to take, but the order stands.- Murtagh replied. He whispered the words for the horrible spell and from his palm sprang a shaft of ruby energy, the bolt slamming into the shield the Dwarven spell-casters had constructed. The shield flared and shattered, and the dwarf spell-casters fell dead, just before their king.

-Murtagh!- Thorn cried, dismayed at his Rider's action.

-No!- Murtagh replied in anguish. -I said it correctly! It was supposed to take one life! One!-

Thorn shook himself. -It was the shield. The shield took their lives.- Thorn didn't know if he was saying that for his sake or Murtagh's and he felt despair welling in his Rider's heart. -Murtagh?-

-I won't be Morzan!- Murtagh snarled. -I won't!-

-It wasn't your fault!-

Pain and self-loathing swirled in Murtagh's heart, but he had no time to dwell on it as Saphira was upon them. She was larger, but Thorn was swifter and Murtagh shoved aside the pain from his deed to focus on the situation at hand. They fought viciously; hate driving Saphira and survival driving Thorn. Murtagh held back as much as he could and focused more on defense than offense, leaving Thorn to decide the best way to fight. The fight ended up on solid ground as he and Eragon fought. He tried to tell the younger boy of Galbatorix's plan and though he succeeded in that endeavor, the young idealistic bastard just wouldn't listen. So Murtagh gave him something that would make Eragon listen.

He told him they were brothers as he took Zar'roc from his brother's hands. He said it cruelly, perhaps too cruel, but at least he knew Eragon was listening. He hoped Eragon would listen to what else was said but the hope was dashed when Eragon said, "You're wrong. We're nothing alike. I don't have a scar on my back anymore."

-Murtagh.- Thorn whispered. -Keep hoping. We are together.-

-I know.- But it didn't ease the pain. With Zar'roc in hand, Murtagh picked up his helm and climbed onto Thorn. - Let's… Let's just go home.-

Thorn was more than happy to oblige his Rider and sprang from the plateau. -You did the right thing to let them go.- Thorn said soothingly.

Murtagh didn't reply.

He thought about what Eragon had said, thought about how Eragon had wanted him to die. It seemed so reminiscent of the incident with the slaver a lifetime ago. One life for thousands. He had delivered Galbatorix's plans straight to his brother and Eragon hadn't listened.

-Murtagh?-

-I'm sorry Thorn. I was thinking.-

Thorn sighed and rose higher, winging north as slowly as he could. -We did the right thing. If you had captured him, there would be more sorrow and grief than there is now. You have kept hope alive, so don't despair for us.-

-We'll be punished.- Murtagh said, though his voice held a hint of amusement.

-So be it.- Thorn growled. Agitated flames jumped around his snout and the red slowly calmed enough to swallow his flame. -We may be his slaves, but even slaves can rebel if they have the will to.-

-How did you get so wise?-

-I am a dragon.-

Murtagh sighed and allowed himself a slight smile. If Eragon and Saphira fought the war on the outside, he and Thorn could fight on the inside. He was only second to Galbatorix by means of sorcery and skill, but Murtagh possessed something Galbatorix didn't have. He had Thorn. He had access to the far reaches of Alagaësia where he could hide to research and train. And that something that Murtagh had was cunning. Galbatorix had his plans on his sleeves and Murtagh knew them all. All the young Rider had to do was figure out a way to either undermine the operations or foil them entirely. But he had to do it quietly.

-We're almost home.- Thorn said. The young dragon's head lifted slightly and he eased higher. -The army's survivors have also returned.-

Murtagh sucked in a breath between his teeth and squeezed his legs to Thorn's side. -Are you ready?-

-I'm never ready.- Thorn whimpered. He bent his wings and glided for the eyrie that led into the throne room. Murtagh wasn't surprised to find guards waiting for them, nor was he surprised that Galbatorix was sitting in the throne, legs crossed ankle over knee and his eyes focused firmly on Murtagh as the young man was escorted before him. Biting his tongue, Murtagh bowed and waited.

"You had them." Galbatorix's voice was nonchalant, as if he was inspecting his fingernails. "You had them and you let them go."

"They would have died fighting." Murtagh said. He lifted his gaze to meet the king's and tried to keep a straight face. "The only solution was to let them go. So long as they're alive, we can capture them."

Galbatorix looked as if he liked the explanation and his eyes fell on Zar'roc. "You have your father's sword."

"I felt it only proper I should have my father's blade, as I am his eldest and heir."

"That you are." Galbatorix rose from the throne and stepped easily down to Murtagh's level. "But I gave you a direct order, Murtagh. I told you to capture Saphira at any cost." His hand came up and leveled at the young Rider. "You failedme."

Murtagh was expecting the attack and threw up a defense against the pain. He wrestled with Galbatorix's power for a half hour before his shield came down and the spell drove him to his knees. He lasted another ten minutes before he began to scream. He heard Thorn's agonized roar and heard is little boy's voice screaming in his head and Murtagh threw all of his power into a defense for Thorn. His pain doubled, taking all of Thorn's pain into himself. Thorn would be upset with him, but Murtagh didn't want the hatchling to suffer for him. It went on for hours until Murtagh was coughing up blood and could barely stand. Galbatorix finally stopped and snarled, "Dubshláine, swear you will never show quarter to Eragon. You will not show mercy. You will return victories with Saphira before you. I will not tolerate another failure!"

Murtagh felt the oaths pour from him like water from a pitcher and felt the chains constrict a bit tighter. He was out of options now.

-Eragon, beware. I'm coming for you and this time I cannot fail.-


	5. Chapter 5

Twisted Thoughts

Murtagh's week after the Battle of the Burning Plains was filled with training. Lessons ranged from combat, magic, and harnessing the power of the Eldunari. He often suffered from insomnia when the dragons' voices overpowered his shields and bled into his dreams. Once, he had snapped at Thorn, and the young dragon refused to speak to him again until Murtagh had broken down in tears from the pain he was being forced to endure. Murtagh's body had begun to change as well, with the tips of his ears becoming more pointed like an elf's, and that frightened him. He didn't want to change, to become something he wasn't. Thorn slowly realized that it was his presence that was keeping Murtagh sane.

One day the young red was taken from Urû'baen by Shruikan and shown places where dragons once dwelled. They stayed within the boundaries of the Empire and Thorn tried to contact Murtagh to tell him with childish excitement about what he was learning. Murtagh never replied. Thorn's mood was soured and he followed Shruikan back to Urû'baen and spent some time sulking until he spotted Murtagh coming toward him. Thorn rose to greet his Rider and froze when Murtagh came within reach.

-Murtagh?- Thorn asked hesitantly.

Murtagh's dark eyes flicked up to Thorn and there within the orbs the hatchling red saw madness. What was standing before him was not his Murtagh. It was someone completely different. The hatchling recoiled from Murtagh's hand and snarled in warning. The hand froze and Thorn backed up, trembling.

-Murtagh!- Thorn yelled into that horrible black void that now was his Rider's mind. -Murtagh, remember who you are!-

Thorn received no answer. Murtagh-who-was-not-Murtagh snarled. "Shut up!" he growled. "I've seen the error of my ways, Thorn. Now behave yourself!"

Thorn roared in anger and whipped his tail, but he couldn't harm Murtagh. In his heart, he knew his kind and gentle Rider was still inside the two-legs that wasn't Thorn's Murtagh. But he couldn't stand to be near him. Thorn spread his wings and launched himself into the air and winged away from the city.

If dragons could cry, Thorn knew he would be bawling, and his body felt heavy with the despair in his heart. He glided on the warm-air-that-goes-up and stared straight ahead. He flew until his wings ached and glided down into the dry, scrubby grass, closing his eyes and whimpering. Murtagh-who-was-not-Murtagh was calling him, but he ignored the human, lying in the grasses still and unmoving. He was upset and he lifted his head to the sky and howled out his sorrow. Thorn stayed in that spot for hours, listening to Murtagh-who-was-not-Murtagh call him, order him, and demand him to return.

Thorn shifted and finally got to his feet, spreading his wings to fly back to the black city. The hatchling ignored the calls of Murtagh-who-was-not-Murtagh and fell into his own thoughts. Murtagh-who-belonged-to-Thorn was inside Murtagh-who-was-not-Murtagh somewhere. All Thorn had to do was draw Murtagh-who-belonged-to-Thorn out and all would be as it should. The hatchling didn't know how to do that, because Shruikan-who-was-ancient would tell the corrupted Rider-who-called-himself-King. Murtagh-who-belonged-to-Thorn needed him, and Thorn would do anything for his Rider.

Shruikan-who-was-ancient greeted Thorn with a deafening roar and Thorn answered back because he knew he had to. Shruikan-teacher's mind brushed against Thorn's and offered little comfort to the young red, but Thorn accepted the great-black-dragon's gesture and bowed his head to Shruikan-who-was-ancient when he landed. Thorn focused his eyes on the egg-breaker-Galbatorix and Murtagh-who-was-not-Murtagh and waited.

Galbatorix-oath-breaker smiled. "You had some problems with Saphira, I'm told. Well, let me fix them."

Thorn's body tensed as the familiar spell lodged in his bones and muscles. The grow-pain spell forced Thorn's bones to grow and thicken so he could rival his sister-Saphira and the spell that stopped Thorn's hate-anger-fear took hold after, soothing the hatchling into believing this was normal. Crimson eyes focused on Murtagh-who-was-not-Murtagh and Thorn saw something glimmer in the human's dark eyes.

A tear.

Thorn thought he would roar with joy, hope surging through him. Murtagh-who-belonged-to-Thorn was watching! Thorn shook himself as the spells wore on, stretching and yawning, working muscles that grew and strengthened and made Thorn look like the brown-roaring-fur-claws-bear of the mountains.

When it was over, Thorn was allowed to witness a lesson Galbatorix-egg-breaker taught Murtagh-who-was-not-Murtagh with the Eldunari-hearts, and Thorn understood. Too many voices existed within Murtagh-who-belonged-to-Thorn, too many voices that Thorn's-Murtagh lost himself. Shruikan-teacher had taught Thorn-hatchling about the powerful spells of binding so hatchling-Thorn wouldn't be drawn in. Instinctively, Thorn had shielded himself from the voices-of-dragons-gone, but Murtagh-Thorn's-Rider hadn't known. That was why the void was so large, why Thorn heard echoes, and why Murtagh-who-listened-to-Galbatorix existed. Thorn sat and watched and his young mind began to form a plan to free Murtagh-who-belonged-to-Thorn from the Eldunari-voices.

-In your hour of need,- Shruikan-ancient-one said to Thorn-hatchling, -he will remember who he is. His love for you will prevail.-

Thorn looked at Shruikan-ancient-teacher and knew the elder dragon was speaking the truth. Shruikan slowly blinked and looked away from the youngling, though he allowed Thorn to see the lesson from his eyes.

Looking through Shruikan-ancient-one's eyes was always an experience to Thorn, but he understood so much more.

-Those trapped in the Eldunari despise them.- Shruikan told Thorn. -But Galbatorix has twisted their thoughts enough that he is able tocontrol them and, through them, little Murtagh. You are dragonkind, so he cannot control you, but his will comes now through his apprentice.-

-Can I free him?- Thorn asked. Shruikan breathed and a small jet of flame flickered from between his teeth.

-In your hour of need, call to him. Your voice will be his guiding light, as it has been for me. For now, little one, you must hold onto hope.-

Thorn nodded and Shruikan-ancient-teacher fell silent. Thorn watched. Waited. At night when Murtagh-who-was-slave slept, Thorn sent out gentle calls into the void. Days later and after several skirmishes with Varden supporters, Thorn received a weak answer. The youngling sent a new message with the calls: I miss you. He kept sending his calls and gave everything he had into protecting Murtagh.

Then, Galbatorix received word from his spies among the Varden and he summoned Murtagh-who-was-not-Thorn's and Thorn to lead a group of soldiers in a surprise attack at the Jiet River where the Varden were camped. Here was another opportunity for Murtagh and Thorn to capture Saphira and Eragon and a chance for Thorn to finally reach Murtagh-who-belonged-to-him.

The great, young red dragon flew at the head of the new contingent of warriors and not a week later, sprung battle upon the Varden who looked about to hold a celebration. Thorn ignored Murtagh-who-was-not-his-Rider's words to blue-sister-Saphira's rider and concentrated on being fierce. It would hurt terribly, his plan, but he would endure because Murtagh had endured pain for him. The spoken-words angered blue-sister-Saphira and Thorn knew he could use that anger to his advantage. He heard Murtagh-who-was-not-Murtagh give a cry, and knew now was the time to fight. He roared in reply and flapped hard to get above Saphira. She fought like a mother wolf fought to protect her cubs and Thorn was hard-pressed to get close enough to wound her. But he wanted Saphira-blue-wolf to hurt him. He needed her to wound him. She hit his wing and it shattered. Bone pierced his hide and blood rained from the wound. He vocalized his pain as he tumbled past she-dragon-Saphira and yelled into the void, -Murtagh! Help me! Please!-

He spun and twisted, his one working wing flapping uselessly. He sent the same message over and over again, fighting away despair that it was too late.

-…Thorn?-

-Murtagh!- Thorn cried with joy and love. -Murtagh! Mine!-

Murtagh shook his head as if to clear it and watched the ground rush up to meet them. Quickly, he pulled an orb from his belt and pressed it to Thorn's shoulder. The healing magic spread through the red and the moment all was mended, Thorn broke his fall and spun to race back up to blue-sister-Saphira.

-Wh-what happened to me?- Murtagh asked as Thorn breathed deep to unleash his fire at Saphira to buy time.

-I will explain all later! Now we must survive!-

Saphira avoided the flame and Murtagh was nearly knocked from his saddle by her pass. He cut at her with Zar'roc and managed to wound her. They broke apart and the dragons hovered to gauge the enemy. Thorn turned his attention to his Rider for a brief moment while he had the chance to.

-The oath-breaker bound you deep in the Eldunari. It brought forth Murtagh-who-was-not-you, and he was all but worshipped by not-Murtagh.- Thorn felt Murtagh's disgust and anger.

-I remember that lesson. We all have facets to our personalities.- Murtagh frowned and shivered. -He must have brought the most vindictive to the surface.-

-But you are whole now.- Thorn said happily. -You are my Murtagh again.-

-Yes.- Murtagh said with a soft smile. -I am. Now, as you said, we must turn our attention to survival.-

Thorn hummed and focused on Saphira, whipping around and climbing above her. He folded his wings and dove, ready to breathe fire and end the fight for her. But she was ready and avoided his initial attack, the two colliding with enough force to drive breath from Murtagh's lungs. He clawed at Saphira, trying to injure her enough so she would withdraw. But Saphira proved more tenacious than he had thought and when they collided again, their Riders were close enough to do battle themselves. It went like this for many minutes until they were falling with Thorn and Saphira's mercy.

Murtagh raised Zar'roc and attacked his brother mentally, forcing him to fight back and even that attack failed Murtagh after a long moment. But he had achieved their goal and Saphira was forced to relinquish her hold on them ere she follow them down. Thorn landed with a destructive bounce that rattled Murtagh's teeth, but the red used the recoil to launch himself skywards. Murtagh looked behind him to see Saphira motionless beside Eragon, but knew they were alive for the elves were rushing for them. Murtagh relaxed on Thorn's back and rubbed the slice in his cheek, uttering a healing spell to make the mark fade to nothing. At their main task they had failed again, but as for their promise to each other, they had succeeded.

-He isn't going to be pleased.- Thorn said.

-He'll be punishing us anyway.- Murtagh replied. -Might as well make it a punishment we're used to.-

Thorn made a noise and continued to fly, heading back to Urû'baen. They decided Murtagh would fake being Galbatorix's perfect slave if only to prevent him from discovering what they were going to be up to, for Thorn told Murtagh about Eragon's words, how they could change their true names. They only had to be careful.

The castle was bustling with activity when the red dragon and his Rider returned and almost immediately, the pair was ushered in to see the king. Murtagh reported in the best vindictive, angry voice he could muster and Thorn added snarls and growls to add to the effect. Galbatorix kept his silence until Murtagh had finished and then lazily pointed at the young man. Because he was expecting it, Murtagh was able to shield the worst of it from Thorn. But this magic served only to incapacitate him and the guards came forward to strip him of his armour from the waist up. He was forced to his knees and two guards held his arms out, spread wide. Galbatorix caressed the handle of a fine leather whip.

"Since you seem to lack the understanding of my orders when I use a simple spell on you, perhaps a physical reminder will do wonders." The mad king said as he rose from his throne.

Thorn snarled. -I will kill him!-

-Thorn, no! Stay back. I'm not afraid.-

The whip whistled. Murtagh grit his teeth as it cut into his back and swallowed his yell. He lasted ten lashes before he made his first sound, ten more before he screamed. When the count reached thirty, Murtagh was close to passing out and if it weren't for Thorn's voice telling him to stay awake, he would have. He felt the skin itch and burn as the lash marks healed, leaving paper-thin white lines on his back, dissecting the larger scar – his father's scar – and marking his most recent failure.

He was allowed to stand and Murtagh swallowed his grunt of pain. He raised his hand slightly to keep Thorn back and stared at his foul master with a gleam of hatred in his eyes. Galbatorix only seemed pleased by that.

The king settled into his throne and caressed the whip, gesturing for Murtagh to stand beside him. "You've been shown what the Immortals can do, but they aren't enough to defeat the Varden. With you, their defeat is assured. However, they may seek allies beyond Alagaësia's borders. To that end, I've devised a plan to nip that in the bud."

"If I may be so bold," Murtagh began softly, "What plan is that?"

Galbatorix's smile was gentle, a deceiver's smile. He raised his hand slightly and uttered a single phrase in the Ancient Language that Murtagh didn't know. The fires lighting the throne room flickered and the guards shifted nervously. Thorn shrunk against Shruikan's side and bared his ivory white teeth. Murtagh knew then that whatever was coming was unnatural and something to be feared.

Murtagh's eyes went wide when he recognized the man striding into the room. More an apparition, the man seemingly glided along the floor. Behind him a group of twelve followed, and behind them, two more groups of thirteen. Thirty-nine men and woman, humans and elves, soon stood in the throne room, ghastly apparitions whose eyes glowed with some kind of unnatural red fire. And at the head of the contingent stood Morzan. As one, the group went to their knees before Galbatorix.

"Aren't they something?" Galbatorix asked with a laugh. "It took me years to perfect the technique."

"What are they?" Murtagh asked in awed whisper, staring directly at his father.

"As'ratlegûl." Galbatorix purred. "The spirits of Riders long since past. Through their dragons' Eldunari I was able to bind their souls to the physical plane and now they're neither dead nor living. They do not need food, water, or sleep. They are tireless and tenacious." The king smiled when he noticed Murtagh's gaze. "Yes. Your father was the first I crafted. Don't worry; he can't recognize you. Unfortunately, memory was the first that had to go."

Murtagh felt a cold fist settle in his stomach. "What is their purpose?"

"They are going to destroy the hope of the Varden." Galbatorix flicked his wrist and the As'ratlegûl rose. "They are going to traverse the mountains to the lands beyond, into the great desert beyond the Beor. There, they will kill everything they find."

Murtagh shivered as Morzan's eyes focused on him and then Galbatorix, the apparition's lips splitting into a feral grin. "Can they be stopped? Killed?"

Galbatorix eyes Murtagh for a moment, then shrugged as if divulging the secret was of no consequence. "Can you kill what is already dead?"

Murtagh kept his tongue behind his teeth, hoping the pained look he wore was enough to look like a grin, and slowly settled into the chair beside the throne. Galbatorix looked at him oddly. Murtagh smiled at the king and ignored his twisting stomach.

"They will certainly teach the Varden a valuable lesson." Murtagh said lightly. The suspicion slowly eased from Galbatorix's eyes.

The mad king laughed. "That they most certainly will."

Murtagh watched the As'ratlegûl leave the throne room for the evil task and tried not to let fear and despair show on his face. He looked to Thorn and saw determination in his crimson eyes and knew the young red wanted nothing more than to erase the blemish of the King's creation. In that respect, Murtagh knew, Thorn wasn't alone.


	6. Chapter 6

Flight to the Spine

Weeks passed since the As'ratlegûl's leaving, and Murtagh devoted most of his time to training with Zar'roc and spells and Thorn. They researched all they could in what was available to them and realized that they were more focused on culling the threat the As'ratlegûl posed than trying to free themselves. At this point, Murtagh decided remaining in Galbatorix's confidence would serve him far better than if he were to become a fugitive. But he did what he could to help the Varden along in their thankless task. Supplies went missing or arrived late; soldiers received the wrong orders; villages were abandoned one day and alive with activity the next after the army had returned to Urû'baen's garrisons. It was difficult in getting the Varden spy's trust, but so long as Murtagh hid his identity, the spy was none the wiser and happily passed along the information he was given by the cloaked stranger. Eventually, Murtagh had to be more discreet when the soldiers began looking for him or rather, the mysterious fugitive who had begun to make quite the name for himself – or herself – in the underworld of Urû'baen.

Murtagh also devoted time to exploring Urû'baen, using old parchment and charcoal to draw maps of the old city. While the maps gave him nothing in the way of secret entrances and things of that nature, he was able to determine the best areas to siege and where to sneak inside under the cover of dark. A spell prevented him from stealing the last egg, but he could get an intrepid thief from the Varden to get into the city and spirit off the egg before Galbatorix ever realized.

Then Thorn had said, -What if he spelled the hatchery to alert him to a thief?-

That prompted Murtagh to explore the hatchery under pretense of trying to discern the green's Rider with a multitude of spells. When he discovered what a thief would be pitted against, he worked on developing countermeasures that would protect a thief from all of Galbatorix's traps. Between skirmishes and appearances over a battle for intimidation, Murtagh only managed to complete his maps and find the counter to only one of Galbatorix's many measures to ensure the green egg's safety. He listened to the soldiers' talk of the Varden's advances, how they were pushing ever closer to Urû'baen, and that the elves had now joined the battle. Murtagh learned of the Raz'ac's demise by his brother's hand and that Roran, his cousin, had wed the girl the Ra'zac had taken. Belatedly, he realized this was all old information and that the party he had crashed weeks ago had been Roran's wedding.

Then Galbatorix learned of the Varden's plan to attack Feinster, and of the elves' plan to make their own attack. He was faced with two choices: confront Eragon at Feinster or attack the elves that would be without a dragon. The answer was obvious.

Galbatorix sent Murtagh to confront the elves and Murtagh received one of the biggest shocks of his life. The elves weren't without a dragon, as floating on the air before them was a great gold dragon the same size as Shruikan, and probably just as old. Thorn was small enough that agility was on his side and Murtagh used his anger as a weapon against the gold's Rider. It wasn't fair. Another, older Rider existed and he had done nothing to aid Murtagh or Thorn. The stigma he carried of being Morzan's eldest son still haunted him.

Murtagh knew he was losing and when the last three feet of Thorn's tail was bitten off all he could do was seal the blood vessels before Galbatorix invaded his mind. Murtagh became a silent observer and watched as Oromis and Glaedr were struck down. He watched in horror as the great golden dragon turned for a suicide dive and wondered, -If I die, will Thorn react that way? And if Thorn dies, what will I do?-

Galbatorix let Murtagh have his body back with the order to retrieve the golden sword Oromis had wielded and Glaedr's Eldunari. With the elves retreating, Thorn slowly spiraled down, wobbling in the air and was happy when he landed so he could inspect his tail. Murtagh walked the battlefield, Zar'roc unsheathed to defend himself, but no elf was brave enough to confront him alone.

He found Glaedr and placed his hand on the dead dragon's neck. He softly spoke words of comfort and sorrow and regret in the Ancient Language, holding back his contempt because it wasn't Glaedr's fault he was left to suffer. Zar'roc cut into Glaedr's chest to get at the dragon's Eldunari, but it was gone. Which meant the dragon had expelled it prior to coming to battle and that Eragon must have it. Sighing, Murtagh cleaned off Zar'roc's red blade and went to look for Oromis' sword. He found the blade nearly embedded in blood-soaked earth near Glaedr and grasped the hilt. Murtagh pulled and the gold blade came free.

Murtagh looked up into the slanted grey eyes of a young elf warrior. Blood covered the elf's face and armour, and a vicious-looking wound slashed diagonally across his face from left to right. If he survived, the elf would sport a rather distinctive scar. Those grey eyes flicked to the sword Murtagh held in his hand then back to his face. They flicked down to the gold sword again, then back up. The elf tensed as Murtagh shifted, ready to spring away or lunge forward.

Murtagh offered the elf Oromis' blade. "Here. Take it."

The elf stared at the young Rider in confusion. Murtagh offered the sword again. Hesitantly, the elf stepped forward and took the blade from Murtagh's grasp. Without preamble, the young man turned his back on the elf and walked back to Thorn.

-He won't be happy you didn't get at least one.- Thorn whimpered as Murtagh touched his tail.

"Better for them to have both than everyone having nothing." Murtagh replied. "Can you fly?"

-We shall see.- Thorn paused then looked at Murtagh with brilliant crimson eyes. -You never planned for Galbatorix to get a hold of the sword or the Eldunari, did you?-

Murtagh smiled at the amused tone of the young dragon's voice. "No, not really."

-Devious. I love you, little one.-

-And I, you.- "Now." Murtagh mounted the saddle and strapped himself into place. "Let's return and tell him how we failed again."

-For more pain.- Thorn said sadly.

"Pain I'll endure because I must." Murtagh replied. "Now fly."

Thorn shook himself and crouched, tamping down his hind legs to spring into the air, flapping his wings for ascension. He wobbled and swayed but remained aloft and though his mourned for his lost tail, Thorn knew it was better to be alive. After all, Thorn didn't want to leave Murtagh alone in this world. They flew lazily over the Imperial Army as the survivors and wounded trickled back to Urû'baen's safe walls. They had dealt a sound blow to the elves that would spend some time licking their wounds and mourning their dead before they chose to mount an attack. Once home, Murtagh learned of the Varden's victory in Feinster and received the king's displeasure for his failure to recover the coveted Eldunari and Rider's sword. Murtagh took the whipping and gave several little cries of pain, but Galbatorix ended the punishment at ten lashes instead of fifty, since the army had routed the elves.

Murtagh spent the next few weeks attending meetings for war and going on raids between skirmishes. His maps he now carried in the satchel he kept attached to Thorn's saddle and the Eldunari he was responsible for never left his side. He was almost constantly wearing his heavy metal armour and had worked to help Thorn master flying now that his balance was easily upset with the loss of the last three feet of his tail. Galbatorix seemed eager to take the fight to the Varden, but Murtagh managed to get the King to send spies and make a battlefield of the Empire's choosing instead of the Varden's. Not two weeks after the rout of the elves and the Siege of Feinster did Murtagh find himself gliding over the open ground at the head of an army marching to war. They had drawn the Varden out of Feinster's walls to open fields where the Empire's cavalry stood a chance of causing some real damage to the Varden forces and the Empire fell into their lines as Murtagh guided Thorn to land in front of his army. He watched as the Varden too lined up and readied their archers, but they didn't fire. The ranks parted to allow Saphira and Eragon through, and Saphira slowly approached Thorn. Fifty feet separated the two dragons, a thousand between them and their armies.

"So," Eragon began, "this is it then."

"No." Murtagh replied. "This is one battle that will decide one thing. It won't be over until one side falls."

"That will be the Empire."

Murtagh didn't reply to that. "I'll give you one last chance, brother." He said after a long moment. "Come with us. Come back to Urû'baen and let's end this."

Eragon's reply was to draw his sword and utter brisingr to ignite the sapphire blue blade. Murtagh nodded and drew Zar'roc in reply. He gave the younger Rider a salute and urged Thorn to launch himself into the sky. Thorn was quick to obey and Saphira wasn't far behind. Thorn swerved to avoid her teeth and spiraled up out of the reach of arrows. Murtagh heaved a breath and turned Thorn to face Saphira. Below, horns sounded on both sides and the Varden and Empire crashed together in a sea of weapons and bodies. Murtagh ignored it, focused on Eragon, focused on the need to bring him down. He knew Eragon was focused on the same task and knew Eragon had the help of the elven spell-casters, just like before. Murtagh couldn't see them on the battlefield and so he focused on a plan that would potentially kill Saphira if he weren't careful. Killing her was the last thing Murtagh wanted to do.

Saphira let out a roar of challenge and Thorn answered, spitting a column of fire that broke harmlessly about a shield around her. Murtagh attacked first, letting Thorn worry about aerial maneuvers, and sought some sort of weakness in his brother's mind. But Eragon had prepared well for this and Murtagh discovered the younger Rider wasn't only aided by elves, but by Glaedr's Eldunari as well.

-I need to rethink this plan.- Murtagh ducked under Saphira's front talon, leaning close to Thorn's neck as the red fell into a barrel roll and dove down several thousand feet only to dive up again directly beneath Saphira to attack the armour she was dressed in. Murtagh called upon the power of one of his Eldunari and used that extra strength to batter Eragon's defenses with his mind as he attacked simultaneously with spells.

Eragon managed to defend against it not nullify Murtagh's attacks, but he was tiring far faster than the elder Rider was. They'd been fighting for nearly an hour by Murtagh's estimate, and had been assaulting each other with their minds and magic, quickly using up what reserves they had. Murtagh didn't know how much longer Eragon would last, so he asked Thorn to try and find an opening in Saphira's armour.

-I will try.- Thorn answered and kicked away from the larger female, back-winging to gain some altitude. His keen eyes sought out the fine hairline parts between the plates of Saphira's armour and went after them as Eragon and Murtagh launched another assault in one another.

-Why do you fight?- Saphira's voice boomed in Thorn's mind as she dodged his claws to open up a short gash on the red's rear left flank. -Why do you help the egg-breaker?!-

Thorn roared, -I fight for Murtagh and only Murtagh!-

His answer seemed to stun Saphira and he took advantage of her lapse in movement. He collided with her with the force of an avalanche and locked his talons in the shiny metal plates she wore. Saphira kicked at him as she realized his intent and opened up wounds on his belly that caused him much pain. Murtagh was quick to heal them and renew Thorn's energy, so the young red simply concentrated on getting the shiny metal off Saphira.

Eragon was growing desperate as Thorn and Saphira were locked together and tumbling around in the air, staying aloft only by some miracle. With Murtagh close enough for swordplay, he broke off the mental attack and that alone alerted Murtagh to his brother's intent. Brisingr and Zar'roc met between their dragons in a shower of sparks but the swords held. It was physical strength against physical strength now and Murtagh felt his brother weakening under the assault.

-I can't hold on!- Thorn cried to his Rider. -We're going to fall!-

-Then let go! Get above her!-

Thorn bit at Saphira's face as he disengaged, kicking away from her to shoot up higher in the sky. Saphira nipped at Thorn's tail as he went by and the red squealed and shot into a roll that would put distance between him and the female.

"Give up Murtagh!" He heard Eragon yell, voice enhanced with magic. "You can't win this time!"

"We'll see about that," Murtagh muttered and leaned to the left as Thorn banked to come to rest on a thermal a thousand feet above Saphira.

Saphira let out a roar. -Coward!- She yelled.

Thorn wobbled and snarled. No more coward than you! He yelled back. He bent his wings and dove at her. Their front claws locked as they collided with enough force to drive the breath from the Riders and the two dragons snapped and snarled at one another, not daring to use flame with their Riders so close. Brisingr and Zar'roc crashed together, the blades trembling with their Riders' strength. Saphira and Thorn rolled and Eragon and Murtagh were separated for a moment as the dragons rose to a higher altitude to clash again. Murtagh was exhausted sweat beading on his face and cooling rapidly in the higher altitudes. His magic was near depleted and judging from the way Eragon was slumping in his saddle, he was close to exhaustion as well. Murtagh needed to end it and end it quickly.

-How are you?- He asked Thorn. The red dragon fell into an easy glide and rose higher.

-Tired. But so is she. If we can get close, we can bring her down. I'm heavier; she's just bigger.- Thorn answered Saphira's roar of challenge with one of his own and with two quick flaps of his wings, he was charging her straight on.

Murtagh supposed Saphira must've told Eragon the same thing for her charge was desperate and the two dragons collided, tails whipping around as their primary weapons became their teeth and claws. Murtagh was close enough to make a cut with Zar'roc and managed only to cut a shallow wound on Eragon's leg as Brisingr came down to block. Saphira rolled herself above Thorn, which gave Eragon the advantage of offense for the swordplay, and Murtagh blocked an overhead chop that would've taken his head. Murtagh thought he heard cracking, like crystal if it was hit with a hammer too many times, but ignored it until he saw the hairline fracture in Zar'roc's red blade. He stared at the ancient sword in surprise and panicked with the thought that the sword had been switched. Rider's swords were indestructible! They were made to last! Murtagh pulled back, narrowly avoiding a slice that would've opened his throat from ear to ear. Eragon looked startled at the near fatal blow and winced as Saphira no doubt yelled at him. Murtagh swung Zar'roc again, hoping the blade would hold just a little longer and the fracture became a fissure and Murtagh had no choice but to use his breaking sword to block Eragon's downward chop that would open him from shoulder to him longways.

Zar'roc crumbled a little more as Eragon brought Brisingr back up for a diagonal slice and Murtagh managed to block that strike before any real damage could be done. Then Saphira jerked and Brisingr had added strength behind the next downward strike, and when Murtagh blocked this time, Zar'roc's red blade shattered and its wielder only had the hilt gripped tight in his fist. Eragon's eyes went wide and he must've screamed because Saphira was jerking away from Thorn. Brisingr came free from Zar'roc's shards covered in red blood. Murtagh blinked and looked down, watching blood stream from him and across Thorn's scales.

-Murtagh!- Thorn screamed, roaring in anguish at the feel of the killing blow. Murtagh was open diagonally from shoulder to hip, a mirror of the scar on his back. His collarbone was shattered, his ribs broken in two, and his innards had slowly begun to push out of the hole in his stomach. -Murtagh!-

Thorn burst away from Saphira in a panic, shouting his fear and anguish to the world. Saphira-blue-sister was apologizing, telling him they had healers, but he wouldn't listen. Thorn spun in the air and beat his wings and flew and flew and flew, screaming for his Rider. The darkness was creeping into his frightened, young mind; all he knew was that Murtagh was dying and he would be alone. Thorn couldn't live alone. He shot past Urû'baen, soaring over open ground in his panic and fear and the trees of the Spine were soon within sight. He flew up the mountains, over the trees and when he felt Murtagh black out completely, Thorn faltered. He screamed as he crashed, uprooting trees and skidding hard in the cold, cold ground. He lost Murtagh in his landing and the red struggled to his feet, searching everywhere for his Rider. Murtagh was barely alive when he found him, nudging the human and begging him to wake. The shadows only took a stronger hold and Thorn threw back his head and roared.

-Help! Someone please help me! Someone! PLEASE!-

But his call was left unanswered.


	7. Chapter 7

Understone

When he first opened his eyes, the first thing Murtagh realized was that he was alive. Then as he became aware of his surroundings, he found he was lying on a soft bed covered by silk sheets and thick quilts made of animal pelts. He was naked, his chest wrapped in white gauze that just had the tiniest stain of pink, and the room was decorated with ancient old wood furniture, wildflowers, and charcoal sketches. Lush carpets covered a grey stone floor, and the walls, which were also grey stone, had tapestries hanging over doorways to keep out drafts. Groaning, Murtagh pushed himself up and realized his muscles must've atrophied since they protested moving. But he pushed the covers off of him and swung his legs out of bed. He tried to stand and failed. The third time he managed to stay on his feet and even took a few steps. He managed to find soft boots that seemed to serve the same purpose as slippers and pulled them on. Then he found a fur robe and wrapped that about his aching body as he explored the room.

He found a glass door that opened to a wide stone porch and realized it was like the eyrie ledge back in Urû'baen. His heart tightened. Thorn. If he was alive, Thorn had to be alive as well. Or did Thorn give his life so Murtagh could live? With a trembling hand, Murtagh pulled the glass door open and stepped out. He was surrounded by tall coniferous trees and exposed to frigid air and wondered where he was. Murtagh stepped to the railing of the wide porch and looked out at the surrounding forest.

-…Murtagh?-

The young man jerked at the sound of the light tenor voice in his head that was both foreign and familiar. He swallowed and dared to hope.

-Thorn?-

Joy and love flooded his mind. -Murtagh! You're awake! Stay there, I come!-

Murtagh shivered and turned his gaze to the skies above him, searching for the young red dragon. A dark shape tumbled out of a passing cloud and wove toward him. Thorn checked his speed and overshot the eyrie ledge, bent his wings and turned to come to a light landing on the ledge as close to Murtagh as he could. He was humming loudly, and Murtagh's hands vibrated when he placed them on the dragon's snout.

-I'm glad you're awake.- Thorn said excitedly. -Now I can show you everything.-

"Everything?" Murtagh questioned. Thorn gave a short, barking roar and backed up so his Rider could get a good look at 's eyes went wide. Thorn's body had evened out; his shoulders and chest now more like Saphira's instead of a bear's. He was sleek and strong like a panther and his tail was whole again. Murtagh touched the last three feet of Thorn's tail with wonder. He looked up into ruby eyes.

"How did you do this?" Murtagh asked.

Thorn hummed. -I didn't. He did.-

Thorn lifted his head and Murtagh turned slowly, feeling the eyes on his back now. Standing easily within a sword's reach as an elf with long black hair and piercing green eyes. He was dressed in clothing more proper for the cold weather, and watched Murtagh with a healer's gaze. The most striking feature, though, about the elf was a tattoo on the left side of his face. The black ink was shaped as a turning dragon, with the head and neck of the dragon making a U shape over the eyebrow, as the body and wings continued the shape over the socket. The tail of the dragon went straight down the outside of the eye and stopped just above the cheekbone. There was power in that mark, and Murtagh knew this elf was very dangerous.

"There's no need to be afraid." The elf said as he lifted his gloved hands. "See? No weapons."

"You don't need physical weapons to kill someone." Murtagh replied.

The elf sighed. "Unfortunately, you're right. Now, Murtagh, why don't you come inside? It's cold as hell out here and the last thing we need is for you to catch your death." When Murtagh hesitated, the elf smiled. "It's alright. Thorn will be right out here."

-Go on, Murtagh. We can trust him.- Thorn gave Murtagh a little nudge and the human reluctantly followed the elf back into the room.

"Who are you?" Murtagh asked as he took a seat in one of the leather cushioned old wood chairs.

"The first." The elf replied easily. "Take off your robe." The elf rolled his eyes when the boy glared at him. "You have nothing I haven't seen before. You don't have to take it off all the way, just enough for me to look at your chest."

Reluctantly, Murtagh did so, feeling raw amusement from Thorn. "The first what?"

The elf knelt beside him with a roll of fresh bandages, a washcloth, a bowl of hot water, and several poultices. "The first Rider."

Murtagh thought his heart would stop as he stared at the elf. "You… you're Eragon? But how? How did you survive? And why didn't you come to help us? You have to know what's going on!" Murtagh yelped as Eragon pressed on the tender, pink flesh that dissected his chest.

"My time was over." Eragon said with a hint of anger. "Were I to leave this place and come to the aid of the Varden I would be hailed as a traitor for letting the massacre of Doru Araeba happen. I would be persecuted and feared for my people have far diminished from what they were and I am as they should be. Imagine for a moment the destruction I could bring down upon the Varden or Galbatorix."

Murtagh glared at the elf and stewed in silence. Eragon was right. Should he appear now, no one would feel safe and too many more would die. When the elf stepped away from him after wrapping his chest again, Murtagh pulled his robe back on and glowered.

"You are young. You will learn." Eragon said.

"Learn what?" Murtagh snapped. "As I sit here, the Varden are probably marching to victory."

"No." Eragon replied sadly. "They're not. They've been routed, with many losses. They tried to take the city of Gil'ead, but Galbatorix had woven a trap so well no mage could hope to foresee it. They're holed up now in the mountains of the dwarves and the forest of my kin recovering."

Murtagh swallowed. "How do you know?"

"I don't live here alone, Murtagh. This is your room, a gift from the Stone Maiden. Below us, within the mountain, lives a race long stricken from myth. They bring news and Thorn has told me everything else."

"So you found me then?"

"Six months ago, I found you on death's door." Eragon looked at the young human and handed him clothes in which to change into. "If it weren't for Thorn, you surely would've died."

-I yelled and yelled.- Thorn said. -Bid'Daum answered. He brought Eragon and Yozh and the Fel brought us here.-

-The Fel?-

Thorn made a buzzing sound of amusement in Murtagh's mind. -The grey elves.-

Murtagh thought he was going to have a breakdown. Six months had passed since that fateful day and he lived; Eragon and Bid'Daum survived here in this place; and the Grey Folk lived here too.

-Not the Grey Folk.- Thorn admonished. -The Fel. The Children of Stone.-

"What's the difference?" Murtagh muttered as he changed into the heavy tunic and pants the ancient elf had given to him.

"Plenty of difference." Eragon said, startling Murtagh. "I can hear Thorn too. This mark allows me that."

"What's that mark?" Murtagh asked. "And what's the difference?"

There was raw amusement in Eragon's blue eyes. "This mark is called a Scionmark. It denotes Riders who have become the bringers of hope for their time. Over history only two others and myself have worn this mark. And the difference between the Grey Folk and the Fel is that the Grey Folk won't eat you when you die."

Murtagh looked ill. "They're cannibals?" He eyed the elf and took a step back.

Now Eragon did laugh. "No more than you or I. But food is scarce here in the Spine, and eating their dead has to do more with their religion now than before. Come, the Stone Maiden wishes to meet with you."

-She's beautiful Murtagh.- Thorn told him. -Just be polite.-

-Easy for you to say.-

Thorn buzzed amusement again and withdrew from Murtagh's immediate consciousness to stalk a fat buck that had wandered too close. Murtagh jogged a little to keep up with the taller elf, and they left his room far behind, always descending. Murtagh could think of nothing to say, could think of nothing to ask this elf that was legend, and Eragon wasn't supplying any small talk either. So Murtagh dwelled on the past, his hand against his wrapped chest to feel the wound that should have – and almost did – killed him. He hadn't found Zar'roc's hilt amongst his possessions and wondered if he'd lost it. He hadn't found the Eldunari either. His armour was gone, as was his bow and dagger and horn. He wondered about his brother, about Saphira and the Varden, and if six months had already passed, then he was close to turning nineteen and another year of his life would be gone.

Eragon placed a gentle hand on Murtagh's shoulder to get the young man's attention. "This," he said with a smile, "is Understone."

Murtagh looked away from the elf and thought he would lose his balance as he stared out into the open cavern beneath the mountain. Tunnels created a spider web on the walls, and lights made of glowing lichen hung on ropes strung about the cavern. Torches flickered further down, and from where he was, Murtagh could see a huge open market that was alive with activity. There was laughter and the yells of children, and everything seemed so alive.

"This is amazing." Murtagh breathed. Eragon laughed.

"Isn't it? When I first saw this place, I thought I was dreaming." Eragon gestured for Murtagh to follow him and they began to descend again. "This is only a small part. Through those large tunnels, you'll find the temple and the homes of the Fel. There are thousands of rooms, all for a different purpose. I've lived here for years and I still don't know them all by heart. And that tunnel," Eragon pointed to a tunnel shaped like a dragon's maw, "leads to the Library."

Murtagh immediately focused on that tunnel. "The Library?"

"Mm. You'll be spending most of your time there while you heal. You'll learn things you knew and things you didn't know. And in time, when you've healed, we'll get started on your other lessons."

Eragon passed Murtagh on the path, as the young man was frozen to his spot. Murtagh whipped around and ran to catch up to the ancient elf. "You're going to train me?" he asked in a whisper.

Eragon looked at Murtagh and stopped. Murtagh stopped as well and stared into the elf's eyes. "When I freed you and Thorn from Galbatorix's spells, I caught a glimpse of a future that may be. In this future, there were no dragons, only death and fear. If you live, if you survive this test, I will train you."

"What test?"

"The Stone Maiden's test. I can't say more."

Murtagh watched Eragon's back as the elf moved down into the market. He hurried after him, staying close and trying not to stare at the Fel as they bowed when Eragon passed. What is he? Murtagh wondered. What is he that an entire race of people bow to him?

The crowd followed them to the temple and silently followed them inside. The temple was made of polished stone carved out of the mountain itself, statues carved in the effigies of dragons of every colour guarded windows and doorways, and Murtagh could smell jasmine burning somewhere. Eragon led him down to what looked to be a pit where an altar sat laden with silks and other offerings. There, too, sat the five Eldunari and Zar'roc's hilt. The room was silent and Murtagh realized he stood before the altar alone. Eragon stood now beside a male Fel who stood a head shorter than the elf, and who watched Murtagh with an odd gleam to his dark eyes. Then she appeared, a pewter-skinned Fel decorated by pearls and bones, covered in sheer fabric that gave her the appearance of a dragon in a human form. She stepped down slowly until she stood on a ledge above Murtagh. Then she began to speak.

"I have learned of your past, Murtagh Morzansson," Eragon translated for the boy, his voice seeming years away and coming through a vast void. "I have seen what was been committed. By the God's own word, you are not to blame, however, evil has touched your heart. Prove to me, and to us all, you are worthy of being Touched, that you are worthy of being the student of Eragon az Ahir-Enei."

Murtagh shuddered. Prove himself? How? He wanted to yell at the Stone Maiden, but he kept his tongue behind his teeth. He dropped his gaze from the Fel woman to the altar. The five Eldunari gleamed in the torchlight and Zar'roc's hilt glittered with what seemed to be malice. Slowly, as if in a trance, Murtagh reached out toward Zar'roc but froze. No, not the sword. His gaze turned then to the Eldunari, and he reached to touch the violet orb closest to him. His consciousness was sucked into the Eldunari and Murtagh found himself weightless in a vast void. Below him, something moved, and the head of a purple dragon appeared to him.

-What is your name?- The ancient female asked. -And what is mine?-

"Murtagh. My name is Murtagh. I don't know who you are."

-You do. And Murtagh is but one name. Your true name is what I seek, as do I seek my own.-

Murtagh felt anger course through his blood. -My true name is…!- The anger was quickly quelled when he couldn't say his true name. The old female watched him intently. He first felt fear, then exhilaration, then nothing but a calm reserve.

"Your true name is Elysian." Murtagh told the ancient dragon. "And mine is Estel."

The female hummed. -You have passed. May your life be long and full of good fortune Estel. Know that you may call on us for aid when your need is at its greatest.-

"Estel," Eragon's voice was in his ear, and Murtagh opened his eyes to stare at the elf. He was smiling and the room was buzzing with voices. "Well done."

Murtagh sat up and stared and Elysian's Eldunari that rested in his lap. "What happened?"

"Your test. You see, should you have been fully entranced by evil, you never would've spoken your true name as it should be, and you wouldn't have befriended Elysian." Eragon helped Murtagh to his feet and smiled. "You passed."

"I don't understand." Murtagh said softly.

"Der iz not much to understand, Voodvalker." Said the male Fel Eragon had been standing beside. "Dis test haz been used only twice before in times before you were born. It has failed twice."

"Murtagh, this is Yozh. He was my guardian when I came here as a boy, and when you're better," Eragon smiled, "he'll be your weaponsmaster."

Murtagh blinked, looking back and forth between elf and Fel. Eragon smiled slightly. "I mean to teach you the old ways, Murtagh. The skills you'll learn from me and the skills you learn from Yozh will aid you in the days to come. For now, I'll take you back to your rooms so you can rest and spend time with Thorn."

"Did Thorn take the same test?" Murtagh asked finally when he and Eragon were alone.

The elf looked at him for a long while and said at last, "Bid'Daum tested him. Should Thorn have failed, you wouldn't have woken up from the healing sleep."

Murtagh felt those words cut deep and briefly felt a flare of anger toward the elf for saying them. But he understood why they had to be said and he moved after Eragon as the elf brought him back to the room above ground. Thorn was waiting for Murtagh on the outdoor eyrie and a tumult of joyous emotions assaulted Murtagh. Eragon left the two with a soft order to rest and Murtagh gathered up pillows and blankets and dragged the lot outside to curl up against Thorn's side. He told Thorn of his test and the red told Murtagh of his. Thorn hummed.

-Sleep little one.- The red dragon said. -Tomorrow another adventure will begin.-

"Probably an adventure I can do without." Murtagh mumbled, but he soon fell asleep, listening to Thorn hum.


	8. Chapter 8

The Great Library

Yozh came to collect Murtagh early the next day and the young man caught a glimpse of the white dragon Bid'Daum as Thorn went to his own lesson. The Fel led Murtagh down into Understone and to the Library tunnel where Eragon waited. Murtagh felt useless when the elf and Fel spoke the native tongue but waited as patiently as he could. He listened to Thorn as the young red asked questions of his ancient teacher and wondered if Eragon could hear Thorn too. Yozh finally gave up on doing whatever he was trying to argue for and threw up his hands, stalking away as Eragon laughed.

"Come, Murtagh." Eragon said finally. "Let's go inside."

"Why is he so upset?" Murtagh asked, looking at Yozh's retreating form.

"He wants to begin drilling you in exercises. You have a week left to heal completely, but Yozh was always impatient."

"So what are we doing then?"

"'We' aren't doing anything." Eragon replied as the guards bowed and moved to open the Library's huge doors. "You are going to read. You've been taught dark things, so you must replace that knowledge with the proper training."

"I don't understand." Murtagh's voice trailed off as he strode into the Library proper, eyes going wide at the thousands of shelves stocked with thick and ancient books and scrolls. "This is amazing."

Eragon chuckled. "I said much the same thing. For one week, you'll read. Then, if you're healed enough, you'll advance."  
"What if we don't have time?" Murtagh asked. "There's a war going on out there, and I need to help."

"And you will. But there's always time for those who seek it. These Varden of yours, and your brother, do you really think they'll fall so easily?" Eragon replied. When Murtagh stayed silent, he sighed. "Learn some patience. If indeed we have no time, then I will adjust your training accordingly."

Murtagh heaved a sigh and stared at the elf that was his teacher. "Do I have to read everything?"

"Only what's set before you. I've been here for years and I still haven't read every book in this place."

"And it iz likely you never will." Came a woman's voice from behind them. Murtagh whirled to face her, a grey-skinned Fel with brilliant emerald eyes. "We've been expecting you, Estel. I am Norezha, the Librarian."

Murtagh numbly took Norezha's hand and gave it a quick shake. There was mirth in her gaze and she finally let go of Murtagh's hand to offer hers to Eragon. The elf took it and bowed over it, which only seemed to increase her amusement. When Eragon pulled back, Norezha's gaze turned once more to Murtagh.

"You are under my watch for a week, young one." Norezha said with a laugh. "Now come. Dis vill be your new home."

"What about Thorn?" Murtagh blurted, not wanting to be apart from Thorn for so long a time.

Norezha's smile was gentle. "You vill be able to leave to see de young God. You're not a prisoner here, Estel. You can come and go as you choose."

Eragon placed a hand on his would-be student's shoulder. "Keep an open mind." Was all he said before he turned and left Murtagh with Norezha. She beckoned and the young man followed.

The Library was vast and many attendants shuffled about, shelving books or removing them, preserving them, copying them or even adding to them. Norezha led Murtagh to a private study where a stack of at least twenty thick books awaited him.

"How am I supposed to read all these in a week?" Murtagh asked the Fel woman in exasperation.

Norezha's eyes turned cold for a brief moment. "You vill find a way. But not all must be done within a week. Take your time, Estel, learn patience. Now, settle and choose one. If you need someding, touch dis crystal here, and I vill come."

"Why do you keep calling me 'Estel'?"

"Dat is your name." Norezha bowed and left Murtagh alone. With no choice but to read or leave, Murtagh straightened his spine, determined to learn some answers. He picked a green leather bound book from the top of the pile and settled in a soft cushioned chair to read. It was history he had chosen, ancient stories hand-written in Common so he could understand. It touched on the Fel, their plains-bound brethren who'd come to be called the Grey Folk, and dragons. He finished the book within four hours and sought another from the pile. This time his subject was dragon history, carefully copied in a scrawling hand.

He didn't notice when the attendants replaced the candles and lichen-lamps, so entranced by what he was reading. Today's lesson, he realized, was all history – Alagaësia's history. There were details he'd never even known such as the elf-kin, the To-Ga-Ir. He learned myths and legends and truths that would shame certain races if they knew. When midday came, Norezha came to fetch him for lunch. They ate together in silence for a time before she asked him a question. Automatically, he answered. Slowly, he realized she was testing him and felt pleased when the Librarian nodded with a smug gleam to her eyes.

"D'ose who do not learn from history, Estel, repeat de mistakes." Norezha said softly. "When you go to change de vorld, you must remember de lessons you have learned."

"But I don't understand why you chose to live in the mountains." Murtagh said after swallowing a mouthful of a fruity juice. "Or why you call me Estel, or why you treat me like Eragon."

Norezha stroked a lock of grey hair away from her face. "Perhaps d'ose answers are better explained in breath instead of paper." She murmured. "De Fel believe everyd'ing has its time. When de time is up, it fades to myth and legend, and sometimes out of memory entirely. When we were a young race, de dragons already lived in Alagaësia for centuries. We befriended dem, for dey taught us t'ings only a God vould know. And so, we came to vorship dem. Den de Great Sundering took place, which separated de Fel and de Grey Folk. Our time was over, and so we came to de mountains, where few survived de harsh winter.

"D'rough some miracle, we thrived, and de rest is as you've learned. We lived under de mountain for years and learned of de war between elves and de Gods only vhen Eragon came here as a boy. He studied and learned vith us and we learned from him. De Gods, we learned, chose life partners of de other races, de Touched. Only dey know why dey choose a Touched, and we do not ask." Norezha paused for a breath and sipped her tea. "Now dat answers two of your questions, I believe. De third, why we call you Estel instead of Murtagh, is complicated, but I vill try to explain. De old magic, de kind you were cloaked with, bound you with de name Dubshláine. You were slave to it, not master. De test you took, in dat you spoke your heart of hearts, de very truth of your existence. Estel is a powerful name, as powerful as de name Eragon, but only dat name is shrouded by many, many great things."

Murtagh frowned. "If it's my true name, can't you control me?"

Norezha stared at him as if he had hit her. But then she sighed understandingly. "As you are now, yes, d'ose who know dis name can. But you are Touched, and we vould never harm you. Now, enough questions. You must return to your studies."

Since Murtagh was near bursting with more questions, Norezha's statement hurt him. But a fresh stack of books answered his curiosity and it was within these his answers were found. The books were on sorcery, but he kept himself from trying the spells within the pages if only because he felt he was being observed. Eragon came to collect him when it was time to sleep and nodded approvingly.

"You've done well, Estel." The ancient elf said. "Norezha has informed me of your curiosity."

Murtagh flushed at the smile on the elf's face. "I have more."

"I know. And these answers are better answered by one who knows all." Eragon gestured for Murtagh to follow him. The pair left the Library and moved up through the mountain to an eyrie Murtagh hadn't been to before. Here, the space was large enough to fit four dragons easily, and there were empty racks waiting for saddles. Waiting for them were Thorn and Bid'Daum, the white dragon still twice Thorn's size. Since Thorn was still growing, Murtagh had a good idea of how large the red was going to be. The white dragon was easily twenty-two feet from nose to tail if not a few feet more, and gazed at Murtagh with a knowing gaze. Without really knowing why, Murtagh stopped and bent at the waist in a bow to the great dragon. Amusement filled Murtagh's mind with a voice. -Rise, little one.-

"At least he has some manners." Eragon said, amused, and Murtagh knew the ancient elf wasn't talking to him.

-Indeed.- Bid'Daum replied. -Come, little one. Come sit.-

Aware that Thorn watched him with mirth in his ruby eyes, Murtagh moved forward and settled before the great white dragon. Thorn shifted and moved to lay beside Murtagh, his shoulder pressed against Murtagh.

-You have many questions.- Bid'Daum nodded. -Curiosity is good. But knowing when to ask is the true power of curiosity. We dragons are born with the wisdom of our foresires and dams within us. We know all and yet are still curious. Little Estel, many of your books will answer the questions you wish to ask, so in time you'll come to understand. I'll answer questions the books have no answer to, for Maeglin-hatchling shares your curiosity.-

Murtagh looked up at Thorn. "Maeglin?"

Thorn hummed. -Yes.-

Bid'Daum let loose a throaty rumble to get the younger pair's attention once more. -You already know of true names, and you know these names, for the races, can change. But there are names we're born with that never change. These names are forever protected under layers and layers of ancient magic far older than any of us. These names are brought to light only when the time is right. But like true names, these names can be used to control the individual, unless one possesses the Scionmark.-

"Which is what I wear." Eragon interjected. "The Mark can be seen as a cheat or an impossibility, but it's a deep magic of itself. Having a Mark allows you to communicate with anyone over a great distance, allows you to be more resistant to magic and mental attacks, and prevents anyone from invading your mind unless you allow them to."

-It shields your true name from the Grey Magic that would otherwise make you a slave as well.- Bid'Daum closed his silver eyes halfway as he held a private conversation with his Rider. Then he focused on Murtagh again. -It also shields your dragon the same way.-

"Will I get the Mark?" Murtagh asked in a whisper.

Eragon smiled wanly. "We'll see."

-Murtagh. Your name is Estel because you embody what it means. In the old language of the elves, Estel means hope. Only one before you has been born with the name and he became Eragon's sword in convincing my kind and the elves there was more to being friends than enemies. As I recall, Estel was the only elf that wanted to meet a dragon.- Bid'Daum let forth a throaty chuckle.

"So I'm named for Estel as my brother's named for Eragon?" Murtagh asked.

"The reasons are similar." Eragon said. "As far as I can tell, your brother is named for the change he's to bring to the world. You're named for the hope you'll bring in the dark times that lay ahead."

-What does my name mean?- Thorn asked, light tenor voice filled with curiosity.

Bid'Daum hummed. -Maeglin means light bender. When you've mastered the lone aerial maneuvers, I'll instruct you in this old magic.-

Murtagh couldn't help the grin that spread across his face at Thorn's pleasure. Bid'Daum spent hours answering the questions Murtagh's books couldn't answer and gave Murtagh and Thorn plenty to think about. When Murtagh was brought to the Library the next day, he threw himself into his learning, spurred on by Norezha's comments and stories over lunch. By the end of the week, Murtagh had finished reading all Norezha had given him and found a multitude of tests waiting for him. He concentrated hard, and with Thorn's help, passed them. On his last day in the Library, Murtagh found Norezha waiting for him, two thick volumes in her arms. She smiled as he inclined his head, a sign of respect for students to teachers, and waited for him to approach before she began to speak.

"You've brought light and hope to us, Estel. You've learned and grown and become who you vere meant to be." She held out the books to him then, and carefully, Murtagh took each. "D'ese are de languages of your teachers, and dey vill see you tr'ough de next step of your training. D'ough you are no longer my student, you are velcome in de Library any time." Now Norezha bowed to him, as did her assistants and the other guests.

Feeling proud and overwhelmed, Murtagh thanked the Librarian and left the Library to look at his two books. They weren't in Common, which gave Murtagh the suspicion he'd never be able to translate them, but Thorn interrupted his deprecating thoughts and told him that he would help. They spent time together, Murtagh and Thorn, translating one of the books, the one with a bluish-green cover. The young man and dragon stood on their eyrie, facing the forest. With the book in one hand and Thorn beside him, Murtagh wet his lips and said, "Tluthker."

The air before him shivered and shimmered and a spurt of red flame jetted over the railing. It vanished before it was able to hit one of the ancient trees and Murtagh turned to look at Eragon, who watched him, amused.

"That wouldn't have been the first spell I'd have chosen," the ancient elf said, "but it was accurate."

Murtagh flushed. "What language is this?"

"Mine." Eragon replied. "It's all I remembered and wrote down for the Fel many, many years ago."

"This is Elvish?"

"Very old Elvish. Over time, the languages change, just like the people who speak it. This language is more for spellcasting now than speaking. These words hold the essence of the thing, whereas the ancient language as you call it, uses the power of the name of the thing."

Murtagh frowned. "I don't understand."

-I do.- Thorn quipped. -There are two types of magic. The ancient language uses the magic stored in the name of an object, while this language, spirit-tongue, uses the soul of the object. Essentially, the essence of the word becomes the magic.-

"So I can create fire from thin air? That's just like saying brisingr though."

Thorn shook his head. -It's different. When you speak the ancient language, you must focus on the spell you're casting. In spirit-tongue, you only need to think of what you're casting.-

"I don't get it!" Murtagh growled. Thorn echoed his sound, frustrated.

"Murtagh." Eragon called. "Cast brisingr for me."

The human blinked at the elf and focused on the word. "Brisingr." Fire ignited before him, dancing on the air.

"Now," the elf dismissed the fire and pointed toward the sky, "cast tluthker."

Murtagh frowned and looked at the sky. "Tluthker." The air above him shimmered and a jet of flame shot up high in a spiral before dying out.

"Did you feel the difference?" Eragon asked. "The ancient language uses the power of the word. The spirit-tongue, as Thorn calls it, mixes the power of your will and spirit and uses the power of the elements."

"So, when I use the ancient language, it draws on my power, but when I use the spirit-tongue, it uses the power of what's around me?"

Eragon smiled. "You've got it."

Murtagh and Thorn's frustration eased. "It's good to know both, however," Eragon stated. "There'll be situations when using the spirit-tongue would be disastrous. You wouldn't want to be in an enclosed space and end up burning everyone instead of one specific target."

"But isn't the spirit-tongue like that element magic? Where you can use the light of the sun to power your own magic?"

"Are you using it to cast a spell or replenish your reserves?" Eragon asked. "There are subtle differences and nuances to everything. Not even I know how to bend the elements to my will. You're essentially asking the air to aid you in creating fire, the water to aid you in creating ice and so on with the spirit-tongue. With the ancient language, you're commanding the same results by bending the word's power to your will."

Understanding dawned on Murtagh then, and he looked at the book in his hands. "And this is spirit-tongue?"

"Yes."

"What's the other?"

Eragon smiled. "That's what you will write in yourself, once you've translated the words before it."

"But dat," spoke Yozh, "iz for ano'der time. Now, Estel, you become my student."

Staring at the Fel that had appeared silently at the eyrie door, Murtagh swallowed and looked to Eragon for assurance. The elf only stared back, and Murtagh knew he had just graduated to the next level of his training.


	9. Chapter 9

Weaponsmaster

"Again!" Yozh barked. "Strike for de heart! Strike for de head! Once stroke!" He side-stepped Murtagh's attack with the practice sword and slammed the flat of his sword against the small of Murtagh's back, sending the young man sprawling face first onto the hard floor. Knowing what was coming, Murtagh rolled and avoided the downward thrust that would've skewered him and came back to his feet.

Murtagh was in his third day of training with a sword and was already working twice as hard as he had when he was learning under Galbatorix's weaponsmaster. This combined with the sorcery lessons from Eragon drove Murtagh to the brink of exhaustion, and still Yozh drove him further. Murtagh spun, let the sword become an extension of himself and deflected the mid-thrust aimed for his stomach, knocking Yozh's sword wide. He ducked in close and got within the Fel's defenses, managing to stab the Fel through the heart. Or would've, had not the pair been spelled to guard against killing blows. Still, the force of Murtagh's attack knocked Yozh back and the weaponsmaster lost his balance, crashing into the floor.

Yozh pushed himself up, nodding. "Good. Now, choose ano'der veapon, and by dat, I don't mean ano'der sword."

Murtagh blinked. "Why?"

"Must you always ask why, Murtagh?" Eragon asked from his position on the sidelines of the arena. Murtagh shot his teacher a glare. "In the event that you lose your sword for whatever reason, you must be able to pick up another weapon almost immediately. You must know how to use it, but most importantly, when to use it. A Rider's sword must never be drawn if there's a peaceful way to resolve a problem, and it must never be drawn for a simple sword fight."

"Then what's the point of having a Rider's sword? Wouldn't it be easier then to have a plain sword?"

"Would you be more intimidated by a sword keyed with spells that would prevent harm or by a simple steel sword?"

Yozh let Eragon's statement sink in before he pointed at the line of weapons waiting along the wall. "Don' argue. Get over dere and pick one up. You need to be prepared for de vorst, and I plan on giving it to you."

Murtagh eyed Eragon for a long while but the elf didn't budge, simply staring at the young Rider. Heaving a silent breath, Murtagh strode to the rack of weapons and chose a pike, turning back to Yozh with a determined glare.

Yozh smiled, revealing his sharp, pointed teeth. "Good. Now, attack me."

Murtagh adjusted his hands on the haft and charged at Yozh. The Fel neatly sidestepped and slammed the hilt of his sword into the small of Murtagh's back, sending the young man crashing to the floor. Yozh kept at this torture for hours until Murtagh had mastered not just the sword and pike, but the kukri as well. The boy was covered in bruises, but Yozh kept forcing Murtagh to work, shouting at every mistake, knocking him down and building him back up, pointing out his mistakes and running him through the drills again. Mixed in with this training, Eragon and Bid'Daum took Thorn and Murtagh out into the air, teaching them complex aerial moves that even Saphira couldn't possibly know, mixing Thorn's knowledge with Murtagh's to create displays of aerial prowess that would aid them in the days to come. Eragon also taught Murtagh ground-combat, both mounted on Thorn's back and beside him, working the two until they moved together, each one instinctively knowing where the other would move.

His lessons with Yozh didn't end, nor did his meetings with Norezha to read more books she had set aside for him. Nearly three months later, Murtagh was given a new challenge to master during weapons training: mental attacks while under close combat. At first, Murtagh failed, as Thorn was forbidden from aiding him, but he mastered that stress to be faced with yet another. With pain as a teacher, Murtagh managed to make some progress with his training. He came to the conclusion one day that Yozh hated him, for the Fel soon brought him out of Understone and into the heart of the Spine, letting him loose in the wilds and giving him a head start before he began the hunt. Murtagh was faced with the worst of scenarios and the worst of monsters, and only his two teachers knew why he was being tortured like this.

Five months to the day Murtagh had been found by the Fel, Murtagh finally defeated Yozh, pinning him to the hard ground. Yozh smiled up at him, every one of his sharp teeth bared. "Vell done."

Murtagh stepped back and pulled his teacher to his feet, now barely winded where he would've been sweating and heaving for breath. He looked toward Eragon and smiled. "What now?"

Eragon unfolded himself from his chair and moved over to the young man, taking his sword from him. "You have two more lessons. First, you alone are you go into the Spine without weapons or supplies and find materials for your Rider's sword. Then, when you return, you and Thorn will forge it."

Murtagh blinked. "How?" he blurted. "I thought the sword would be forged with brightsteel, like how my father's was."

"Brightsteel? Bah!" Yozh snorted. "Brightsteel iz what iz used now. But your sword, like de sword of your teacher, vill be forged from de heart and soul."

"You may not understand now," Eragon said as he placed a hand on the young Rider's shoulders, "but you will when the time comes."

Yozh gave Murtagh a smirk as he took the weapon from Eragon and soon led the young Rider from Understone out into the wilds. Murtagh swallowed when he saw Thorn waiting beside Bid'Daum, and reached out with his mind to brush against the red's.

-I have to go.- He told Thorn.

The red sounded mournful. -I know. I wish I could go with you.-

Murtagh was about to reply when Eragon stepped forward, touching Murtagh's forehead gently. He spoke in Old Elvish, and Murtagh knew that he wasn't the only one fluent in the old tongue, for Yozh was paying close attention.

"Estel," Eragon said, "you are about to embark on a journey that is the culmination of your lessons. You've proven yourself to us; now prove yourself to the wilds. You'll know when to return."

Murtagh swallowed and waited for Eragon to step back before he moved toward the towering trees and disappeared into the darkness. The sheer feeling of loneliness assaulted Murtagh first, because he couldn't feel Thorn's presence in his mind. He almost panicked, but steeled himself, telling himself this was another part of training should he and Thorn ever be separated. He wandered for hours, stuck with only his thoughts for company. Time was not a concept that the denizens of this dark place knew, so Murtagh didn't know if it was night or day, but he kept walking. He didn't encounter any beasts but he was still only a few hours into his journey.

When he grew too tired to continue, Murtagh slumped in a cradle of roots and closed his eyes. When he did so, an ancient consciousness brushed against his own. He jumped, wide-awake, but this was no enemy. It was familiar to the human, so he didn't panic as he might have earlier before his training.

Taking a breath, he reached out with his mind. -Elysian?-

-So quickly.- The purple dragon hummed, amused. -You've learned much. Now, it's time for you to learn about the Eldunari.-

-You said I could call upon you when my need is great.- Murtagh replied.

-I did. But there are other lessons you must learn.- Moonlight broke through the gnarling branches. In that light, Murtagh saw her, a great female dragon moving toward him, flickering in an out of existence. -We who are trapped are not as weak as it is believed.-

Murtagh let out a soft breath. "What must I learn?"

Elysian's lips pulled back as if grinning. -My lesson is but one of five. This old forest strengthens us, and the light of the moon gives us the ability to walk its depths. You must seek us out, young Rider, and learn our lessons. Once you've mastered each, you will be greatly rewarded. Now come, sit. Our time like this is drawing to a close.-

Slowly, Murtagh moved forward and sat before the ancient dragoness, staring into her amethyst eyes as she spoke. Her voice rumbled through him, through his mind like waves of thunder. From Elysian Murtagh learned how to read the winds of the sky, how to call them to buffet him should he ever fall from Thorn's back. When morning came and the moon vanished, so did Elysian. In her place was a three-foot bar of silver whose name Murtagh didn't know, but it was certainly not brightsteel nor was it pure silver. It shifted and shimmered in his hands as if it was liquid, but his senses told him otherwise. Though he felt exhausted, Murtagh didn't stop to sleep, rather getting to his feet and continuing the journey.

He foraged for food and happened upon a mother bear and her two cubs. She stared at him with endless black eyes as if deciding to attack. Murtagh told her over and over again he meant her and her children no harm. She sniffed at him once, then disappeared into the brush. Murtagh let out the breath he had been holding and continued on.

The second night, Murtagh camped in a moonlight glade where the shadows seemed ominous. He sat with his back against a rotted old tree and waited. Materializing in the light was a grey dragon that looked to outweigh Elysian. He had no eyes that Murtagh could see, but the dragon stared straight at Murtagh with the empty sockets.

-I smell you, young one. And I smell Elysian's blessing on you. Who are you, so that I may know you?-

The bass voice rattled Murtagh's bones. But he rose and bowed before the ancient beast. "Some know me as Murtagh Morzansson, but to those who live on this mountain, to my teacher Eragon az Ahir-Enei, and to Lady Elysian, I am Estel."

Hot breath ruffled Murtagh's hair. -I am Norial, he who was born with no eyes. Sit before me, so that I may teach you as Elysian has.-

Murtagh obeyed. Despite the great want to fall asleep, Murtagh remained alert, learning from Norial the art of seeing without his eyes. The sensation startled Murtagh several times, but when he was able to see the trees of the Spine and all her animals as shapes of light, Norial hummed his approval.

-Be strong, Estel, for there will be hard times ahead.- Norial rumbled. -Rest now. You are safe until dawn.-

Murtagh was about to protest, but his exhaustion was too great. This time, he slept until the sun had almost reached its zenith. When he awoke, he found another three-foot bar of the liquid-like silver and took hold of it, carrying it with its twin. For the next two nights, Murtagh wandered the forest, foraging for food and practicing his new blind-sight as he had begun to call it. He didn't receive any new teachers, and knew he had three left to visit.

His fourth night in the Spine, Murtagh came across a rocky outcrop that looked down upon a rushing river and a valley turned silver with a crescent moon's light.

-So you are the one who Elysian-sister and Norial-brother speak of.- Came a playful female voice from behind him. Murtagh turned to face the rose-coloured dragon and on reflex bowed to her. She began to laugh. -Oh, little one, I'm not old enough for such things! Rise, rise, please!-

She was smaller than Thorn, smaller than Saphira. Murtagh realized she must have died young to be trapped this way and whispered, "I'm sorry."

-For what?- Her ghostly head tilted. -For this? Oh, little one, you needn't apologize. I lived as any dragon lives, wild and free.-

"You were a wild dragon?" Murtagh asked, awed.

Her laugh was silver-coated, musical. -For a time. My Rider was as unorthodox as they come. Oh, the adventures! I am called Hazamel. Hazamel the Wild.-

Murtagh laughed now and moved to sit before Hazamel, the two bars of not-silver across his lap. Hazamel's head bobbed in approval. Their meeting was short, and all she taught him was how to talk to the animals. Different than the dragons, the animals had a language all their own. It was difficult for Murtagh to understand since the beasts he spoke to used images, sounds, and smells to speak instead of words. He didn't notice the sun rise or Hazamel's departure so enraptured with the squirrels was he. When he did notice, he found her gift to him: a large opal that had veins of white running through its shell. He added that to the not-silver bars and continued on.

The fifth night he met the fourth Eldunari dragon, a deep-chested bronze who called himself Nosirius. Nosirius taught Murtagh how to speak with the plants, giving Murtagh the last bit of druidic knowledge the dragons between them possessed. Once the lesson was finished, Nosirius spoke of an ancient past that even Bid'Daum likely didn't remember. Murtagh promised to add the ancient bronze's stories to the Fel's Library and slept very little that night as his thoughts turned toward his brother, and he wondered how the younger man fared as he had been without news for some time. He couldn't leave yet, as there was one last dragon he needed to meet.

In practicing his new lessons, Murtagh lost track of time. He now carried with him Elysian's and Norial's not-silver bars, Hazamel's opal, and Nosirius' bronze scale from his neck. What purpose these served Murtagh wasn't sure, but the longer he went without meeting the last dragon, the uneasier he became. But he refused to turn back.

The last night of his journey, Murtagh camped where he could see an abandoned village and knew, somehow, that village was Carvahall, the home of his brother. The home of his mother. The breeze gusted against him and Murtagh closed his eyes, reaching out with his blind-sight. A low rumble coursed through him, and when he opened his eyes, before him sat a magnificent red dragon whose scales glittered like rubies.

-We meet at last, son of Morzan.- The red dragon rumbled, her voice reverberating as if she'd spoken aloud. -You do resemble him. How strange.-

Murtagh's mouth went dry. "You knew my father."

-Yes. He was most dear to me, despite the madness that consumed us. I loved him as my son loves you, and I swore I would stay with him to the end.-

Murtagh stared at the red dragon that'd been Morzan's mount, wishing he could recall her name. She simply shook her head. -There is not time to unravel the spell that keeps my name from me. I have no lesson for you, son of mine, nothing to teach you. You know what it is you must do, but you cannot do it alone. Listen well.-

She took a breath, gently touching Murtagh's mind to use images with her words. -When you return, you must make haste. Fly to the Beor Mountains, then across to the deserts. You know of what I speak. There you will find allies, but you must help them first. I don't need to tell you what shall happen should you fail.-

"No," Murtagh whispered. "You don't." He looked up into the red's ruby eyes. "But I don't understand what I have to do."

-No one ever does. The unlikeliest of heroes oft turns out to be the one that has no direction.- The red replied. She lowered her nose to his brow and breathed. Murtagh closed his eyes. When he opened them, the great red was gone, and in her place were several tiny scales, each like velvet to the touch. These he gathered with great reverence, and began the journey back to Understone.

He was greeted by Thorn, who excitedly brushed against Murtagh's barriers. The exhausted human lowered them and Thorn was careful not to send Murtagh to his knees.

-I have missed you.- Said the young red, whose voice had now completely lost the child's intonation and was now an adult tenor. -You've been gone near three weeks.-

-Three weeks!- Now Murtagh nearly collapsed. Three weeks. No wonder he had to hurry!

-Murtagh?-

"I'm all right." Said the human. "Just tired, but we don't have the time to rest."

-I have called Bid'Daum.- Thorn replied after a moment. -They'll arrive shortly. Tell me what transpired.-

Murtagh told Thorn everything, from the five dragons he'd met to his new powers. He showed Thorn their gifts to him and wondered if he had enough strength to forge a sword let alone fly to the lands beyond the Beor range. He had no choice, though, for the victory of the Varden rested with him. Thorn looked a little surprised when Murtagh told him of his mother, then hummed.

-She was honourable in the end.- He said. -As she is descended from the most honourable, after all.-

Murtagh smiled. "You know who your ancestors are?"

Thorn hummed as the great white dragon descended and Murtagh knew at once. -My grandsire, though there are centuries between us. My grandsire, Bid'Daum and his mate, Nimki, my granddam.-

Whatever Thorn said next, Murtagh didn't hear, for Eragon had dismounted, taken one look at Murtagh and nodded.

"It's time." The elf said softly and Bid'Daum roared in reply.


	10. Chapter 10

A Scion is Born

Murtagh made a quick stop by his chamber to get one more item for his sword before he was led by several young Fel toward the forge. The room was wide and cavernous, a wide floor for the forge below a high wall full of seats. These seats were filled by Fel and Murtagh was able to pick out Eragon, Yozh, and Norezha in the first and foremost row, closest to the arena floor. His three attendants left him waiting in the shadows and Murtagh felt Thorn's familiar presence in his head. Soon, the red dragon was beside him, dwarfed by cavern, but still the dragon towered over his Rider.

Thorn's crimson eyes closed halfway as he watched the forge fires flare to life. -What do we do now?-

Murtagh tightened his hands around the six items he held. -We forge a sword.-

-How?-

-I don't know.- Murtagh watched as the Stone Maiden arrived and took the empty seat beside Eragon. -We'll figure it out.-

-I hope so. Are you ready?-

-No.-

But Murtagh strode out anyway. The cavern was silent and still, the only real noises the hissing of the fire, their breathing, and their footsteps.

Not knowing the first thing about creating a sword, Murtagh stalled for time by arranging the materials he had been given. Then he stood beside the fire, on the left side of the anvil and hammer as Thorn stood on the opposite side and watched him. Murtagh let out the breath he'd been holding and picked up the twin not-silver bars. He crossed them before him and looked up into Thorn's eyes. Those crimson orbs sharpened and Murtagh felt himself drawn into their depths. His arms lifted, and the metal hissed as the heat of the flames melted it. Still connected with Thorn, Murtagh pulled on the heavy gloves that would protect his flesh and let out a soft breath. Thorn echoed him. Then, Murtagh's perspective changed.

Murtagh found himself looking through Thorn's eyes, his vision lit up in bright hues of red, less so of blue and green and the other colours, and Thorn found himself looking through his Rider's eyes, and both stared out through their own eyes. It was a strange experience for the both of them. But they understood. Their breath became one, their hearts beat as one, and every minute movement was felt by the other. Then Thorn opened his mind to Murtagh.

-I am Maeglin, descendant of Bid'Daum, my sire, and Nimki, my dam. I'm the dragon of Estel and his friend and brother above all else. To you, Estel, I give the knowledge of my fathers and mothers. To you, Estel, I give my heart.-

Murtagh replied, "I am Estel, son of Morzan and Selena. I'm the Rider of Maeglin, and his friend and brother above all else. To you, Maeglin, I give my love, my protection, and my life. To you, Maeglin, I give my heart."

Neither knew who lifted the human's hands, but they were moving together, in tandem, on a deep, deep level neither knew where the other began and ended. The now-liquid silver was brought out of the fire, steaming and molten, and it poured loose onto the anvil, but didn't spill. Like a giant blob of mercury, the blob waited for the hammer strike.

Time meant nothing to Murtagh and Thorn, the only noise being the hammer as Murtagh forged a sword from the information Thorn supplied him. The blade took shape, a curved scimitar with a folded blade to make the metal strong. The edges became sharp, sharp enough to accidentally cut through Murtagh's glove and sample his blood. He didn't notice. The blade began to become as red as Thorn's scales, iridescent and humming with spells the pair subconsciously imbued it with. The red blade slid into a waiting water barrel and as the steam cloud rose, Murtagh took up his father's hilt, cutting off the wrappings and pulling out the ruby in the pommel, and melted that down along with the large scale.

When those came out as liquid of the same consistency as the sword's metal had, Murtagh mixed the gold and bronze and began to construct a hilt. The bronze scale took on the shape of a wing, and that would shield his hand should a strike be made to his fingers. Zar'roc's hilt took on a gentler, less cruel shape with a crossguard meant for deflection and a wide space between it and the pommel where Murtagh placed the star opal. The last ingredient he had to deal with were the red, leather-like scales given to him by Thorn's birth mother.

Thorn lowered his head then and breathed on the scales. They shimmered with his magic, and grew together, elongating until they had become a single long strip. This Murtagh wound around the grip and pommel of the sword, and Thorn adhered the red scale leather to the hilt. Together, they drew out the red scimitar blade and held it aloft. The widest part of the blade was as wide as Murtagh's hand from the heel of his palm to his index finger and it thinned to a span of a few inches where the blade would join the hilt. Thorn let out another breath, and Murtagh whispered words even he didn't understand as he brought the sword and hilt together to complete the piece. The blade glowed a soft fiery hue and Murtagh traced runes onto the crossguard with his finger. Then Thorn retreated from the innermost depths of Murtagh's mind and the young human did the same. They were once more separate, but as they gazed at each other, they knew that a part of them had been left behind within the other.

Murtagh's attention fell then to his creation. The red-bladed scimitar favoured his many styles, double-edged for cutting and slashing, with a guard when he used his hand, and a wide crossguard for defense as well as quick movement and the ability to disengage on the fly. Aware that the Fel watched him, Murtagh lifted the weapon for all to see and bowed to his teachers.

He noticed Yozh lean to whisper in Eragon's ear and the elf replied before he rose. He reappeared on the ground floor with Bid'Daum beside him, and when they stopped before Murtagh, the elf held out a sheath for Murtagh's new sword.

"You've learned all I can teach you." Eragon said as Murtagh took the sheath and slid his sword home. "You've become a master in your own right, and now the world shall know. Kneel."

Numbly, Murtagh did so, watching Thorn bow his head before Bid'Daum. Eragon reached down and took hold of Murtagh's chin, tilting the human's head up. He touched the tip of a deep, deep black charcoal stick to Murtagh's face, drawing lightly on the left side as he spoke.

"You've completed your final test, Murtagh son of Morzan." The elf said as he drew the charcoal stick over his skin. "You know what it means to be a Dragon Rider. As such, you'll be the hope of the world. Stand now Murtagh, as the last Scion to walk the land. Take upon you the name az Ahir-Enei, and name your sword so that it may be added to the lines of history."

Blinking, Murtagh rose and stared at his former teacher. Only one name came to mind for his weapon. He took a breath and said, "Celeb'sûl. The sword's name is Celeb'sûl."

Eragon's blue eyes held surprise. Murtagh shivered. "What?" he asked.

"Ironic." Eragon said with a smile.

Bid'Daum rumbled. -It's not every day the student names his weapon the same as the teacher's.-

Murtagh flushed. Eragon laughed. "Don't worry so much about it! Now, come rest. I'm afraid you don't have much longer with us, and the Fel, I'm sure, have their own parting gifts for you."

He followed his former master from the forge to the elf's own chambers. They stayed long enough for the human to wash ash and soot off his kin and dress in riding leathers made of hard, dark leather that was as hard as dragon scales. As they were Fel-made, Murtagh knew the clothing wouldn't fail him. He had no armour, no encumbering articles, able to move swiftly if needed and fight if pressed. Then, Eragon brought Murtagh out of the city entirely, to the familiar open space the two dragons had used to take off and land. Thorn waited, bearing a black leather saddle gilded in silver stitching. Pride flooded their link. Murtagh smiled.

-What is it?- He asked.

Thorn preened. -I have been given Bid'Daum's own saddle!-

Murtagh nearly fell. -Really?-

-Really.- Bid'Daum rumbled. -Now that you are a Scion, it's only proper you have a Scion's saddle.-

"Times will be hard out there." Eragon said, gaining Murtagh's attention. "You'll learn of your new powers and abilities as you fly."

Murtagh nodded. He reached up behind him and touched Celeb'sûl's hilt where the sword rested on the small of his back on a slight diagonal, but mostly horizontal, tilt. "It's our time to fight. But we can't do it alone."

-You won''t be alone.- Bid'Daum said. -A true Rider is never alone.-

The great white dragon turned his head and watched Yozh lead three others in a sort of train toward Murtagh. On a patch of white furs held by the three Fel lay a sheathed sword. Murtagh reached out and lifted the sword, gasping softly at the feel of it. It was light but strong, an extension of his body as his Rider's blade was, a sword meant for fighting in tight skirmishes.

Yozh smiled. "Keep it by you, and it von't fail you. De Fel magicks aren't as strong as de God-magicks but dey vill aid you."

Norezha stepped forward then, giving Murtagh a backpack of plain cloth. "In dis you vill find my gifts along vith all else you vill need. In here is my last lesson to you, read it vhen you can, and add your own story vhen de time is right."

Lastly, Eragon himself came forward and handed Murtagh first an Elvish dagger which Murtagh strapped to his right thigh, then an ebony-wood bow with a quiver full of silver-fletched arrows which Murtagh held on his back, and the special pouch for the Eldunari. Murtagh swallowed his pride and hugged Eragon. "I'll return."

"We know." Replied the elf as he returned the hug. "And we'll welcome your stories as an addition to the Library. Now," the elf stepped back and gestured to Thorn, "fly swiftly, Estel, for time is against you now."

Murtagh nodded and moved to pull himself into the saddle on Thorn's back. He strapped his legs down and pressed his palm to Thorn's neck. "Let's go."

Thorn let out a triumphant roar and spread his wings, tamping his hind legs down to send him and his Rider skyward. With a few hard flaps, Thorn rose high and angled east, flying toward the Beor Mountains. He too felt the desire to turn back, but he shook himself.

-Don't worry Murtagh. We'll come back. I will show Saphira Bid'Daum!-

-And she'll cower before her grandsire like she should.- Murtagh patted Thorn's neck with a smile and focused his eyes on the horizon. He knew if he looked back now, he would lose his resolve. They flew for hours over terrain that was familiar and yet foreign, the landscape dotted by burned out villages and signs of war. Of the Varden Murtagh saw no sign, and they were careful to keep out of sight of the Empire soldiers. Thorn kept an ever-watchful eye out for Saphira and the green dragon. While both agreed it was unlikely the youngest of the three dragons had hatched, they weren't sure if what they agreed upon was true.

They landed close to dusk but Murtagh wouldn't risk a campfire, not as long as they were still within the boundaries of the Empire. So instead, he used Thorn's vision, melding them together so synonymously that the dragon could keep watch while Murtagh read. At first the words were foreign to him, but as he remembered his training, he came to understand the Old Elvish and found a note in Norezha's scrawling hand.

-Estel,- it said, -by now you are far from home. Do not despair. Within you lies a great but quiet strength, a strength that will draw others to you. This is my gift to you. Read it, understand it, and then add your own adventure. May we meet again. Norezha.-

"Miss them already." Murtagh whispered.

Thorn drew his gaze away from the black skies and stars to look at his Rider. -We'll see them again.-

Murtagh smiled. "I know." Then, he opened the cover and began to read.

Thorn nudged him awake at dawn and, yawning, Murtagh packed his belongings and climbed into the saddle. They flew in silence, Murtagh dwelling on the preface and first chapter of what he had read. He turned his gaze to the pack that rested behind him on the saddle and thought of the author, his namesake, Estel.

-Not all swords are made of steel and iron, I suppose.- Murtagh thought. How many copes of this have been made? How many were destroyed? If all knew of this, Eragon wouldn't be the only one hailed as a hero. But the fact was no one knew of Estel, or his deeds. No one knew of Nimki and her Rider. Just Eragon. And probably, Eragon had wanted it that way, to protect his friends.

They flew into the Hadarac under the cover of darkness, able to see the tiny pinpricks of light that were the Varden's campfires. Thorn angled higher, into the blacker skies and few clouds so he wouldn't be spotted. Neither saw Saphira nor Eragon, but they knew the pair still lived for there were signs of their presence. Thorn beat his wings and soared toward the Beor Mountains.

Close to dawn the third day, the red dragon landed within the mountains in a stony vale. Both their stomachs rumbled, and they agreed now would be a good chance to eat. Murtagh pulled off Thorn's saddle and allowed the red to hunt what he could. The red recalled an image of a tasty mountain goat and launched himself into the air, leaving the Scion alone in the vale. Murtagh gathered enough debris to create a small fire and warmed up some dried meat and fruit for himself. It was tasteless and stuck to the roof of his mouth, but it was hot and it filled him with the energy he would need. Then he turned to retrieve Estel's book and froze.

A boot scuffed on stone. He knew he hadn't imagined it.

Pretending to still shuffle through his pack, Murtagh took hold of the hilt of his Fel sword and dodged to the side as an axe buried itself in the bark of the tree, inches from his skull. Had he been any slower, he'd have been stuck to the tree as well.

The wind whispered a warning and Murtagh fell into a dodge roll, coming to his feet with the Fel blade unsheathed. His eyes sought his enemy, thinking it to be a human or Urgal or even elf. Then he cursed and backpedaled as another axe came to bury itself in the stone at his feet. To Murtagh's surprise out of the brush came a much more compact body, the dwarf glaring at Murtagh with blazing slate-grey eyes, another, larger axe ready to cleave Murtagh's head in twain.

Murtagh stared down at his small opponent, and danced back as the dwarf came on, swinging his axe for a sure kill. The Fel blade connected with the axe's in a shower of sparks, but each held and did not fail their masters. Murtagh swung his arm in a circle, adding strength by using two hands, and swung the axe wide. He slammed his boot into the dwarf's face and leapt away, circling to a distance that favoured his own reach.

The dwarf snarled and lunged.

He was young, by dwarf standards, with thick blond hair pulled back into a pigtail braid and a beard just on the cusp of being full-fledged. Still, for all his youth, he swung his axe like a veteran warrior and knew the art of battle. Murtagh found himself more on the defensive than he would've liked, but he didn't want to kill the dwarf.

He blocked a downward slash and pinned the axe to the ground. "I have no quarrel with you, master dwarf." Murtagh said.

The dwarf snarled and disengaged from Murtagh, managing to slam the flat of his axe-head into Murtagh's chest. Despite having his breath knocked out of him, Murtagh managed to keep away from that deadly axe.

Rescue came in the form of a great red claw, batting the dwarf away from Murtagh as easily as a cat bats around a ball of yarn. Thorn took a deep breath and roared loudly in the dwarf's face, a sound that rattled even Murtagh's bones. The dwarf promptly fell back, his diminutive body no match for the dragon. With the dwarf subdued, Murtagh sheathed his Fel blade and moved to Thorn's side.

"Relax," he whispered to the leviathan. "I'm all right."

Thorn snarled. -Don't tell me to relax! The little beast was trying to kill you!-

Now Murtagh's gaze fell on the dwarf. "I hope you have a good reason for trying to kill me, master dwarf. Otherwise, I think he's going to eat you."

The dwarf licked his lips and stared up into the crimson eyes of the dragon and the dark, stern eyes of his Rider.


	11. Chapter 11

The Shame Carried By All

Murtagh kept a careful gaze on the dwarf, more so to protect him than anything else. The dwarf had remained silent, so Murtagh had bound his arms behind his back and relieved him of his weaponry, keeping him prisoner. Thorn crouched close by, crimson eyes burning hot. The dwarf blanched each time he looked at the dragon and focused his gaze on the human.

Finally, the dwarf spoke. "Yer Murtagh. Do I need a reason beyond that tae kill ye?"

Thorn snarled but Murtagh shot him a glare and moved over to the dwarf, crouching before him. "I share the name of the man you speak of, but I'm no longer him. I'm no longer the Murtagh that exists in the memories of those who live."

The dwarf snarled. "Don't matter. Yer still the enemy of the Rider Eragon."

Murtagh frowned. "No longer, but not yet an ally."

"And I'm supposed tae believe that?" the dwarf said angrily, his voice rising. "Our clan was shamed once; it'll not happen again!"

"Shamed?" Murtagh questioned. "By who? How?"

The dwarf shook his bearded head and scowled. "Shamed when we attacked the Rider. None of the other clans will speak of us, of Az Sweldn rak Anhûin, let alone trade with us or acknowledge us. And I plan tae put an end tae that with your head."

Thorn's growl rumbled. -I should eat the little beast. Save us some trouble.-

Murtagh rubbed his face, just as agitated as his dragon but controlling it better than the serpent – barely. "You really think my head will solve everything?"

"It'll let them know we're on Eragon's side well enough. That's all we care about."

Murtagh's frown increased. "Being on a side is all you care about? You would blindly follow Eragon into whatever battle he would send you, willing to die for him, because you can't stand the shame?"

"We're suffering from the isolation." The dwarf scowled. "So we're willing tae pretend tae survive."

"And then what happens when your treachery is revealed?" asked Murtagh. "What will you do then?"

"We'll deal with that when it comes!"

"I'm sure you will." There was bitter amusement in Murtagh's voice.

The dwarf tightened his grip on his axe and shoved to his feet. "It's better tae attempt an action instead of just sittin' around wishing something would change!"

"True. But there are better ways than bringing Eragon a head." Murtagh stepped back to his saddle, rummaging for something. "Wouldn't it be a better honour to your clan to be the one to save the life of Eragon? To be the one to come to his aid with an army behind you?"

The axe lowered then, the dwarf gazing at Murtagh with curiosity. "That's some pretty talk an' all." He muttered. "But you haven't given me any proof."

Murtagh pulled out the map he'd been given and moved back to the dwarf, kneeling as he spread out the map. The dwarf seemed impressed, for the map detailed not only Alagaësia, but the nameless lands beyond it. "I'm heading to these lands just beyond the Beor. Here, I'll find my allies." Murtagh paused, sighing. "At least, that's what I was told."

"By whom?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

The way the dwarf stared at him now told Murtagh the dwarf didn't believe him anyway. But when faced with the choice of rolling over like dogs of the whelp of a Rider Eragon, especially when the Varden and the elves backed him, or getting aid from someone else free of such loyalties… the dwarf smirked. "I suppose I'll just have tae keep an eye on ye."

Murtagh rolled up his map with a snap and smirked. "I guess so." He moved to put the map away and reached to touch Thorn's snout, laughing as the red dragon heaved a sigh. "It'll be okay." He said softly.

Thorn's crimson eyes focused on his Rider. -If you say so, Murtagh. But until he saves your life or min without any ulterior motive, I'll withhold my judgment. However, if he raises a hand to you I'll nip him. Hard.-

Murtagh stifled his laughter at the dwarf's glare and stared at his diminutive companion for a moment. -Can you carry him?-

Thorn sighed dramatically. -If I must.-

"Do you have belongings, master dwarf?" Murtagh asked.

"It's Yurich." The dwarf growled in reply, but went to retrieve a small pack. He dropped it at Murtagh's feet and glared at him. Murtagh shook his head. This adventure seemed to get more interesting at every turn.

They left the stony vale before the sun was at its zenith, Thorn grumbling at having to carry such a grouchy creature as Yurich. Murtagh only asked if Thorn would rather walk, and though the dragon still grumbled, he kept it to himself. They soared over the last of the Beor Mountains and into the desert lands whose names had been long struck from the memory of Alagaësia. The miles stretched on with no signs of life on the dusty sands. Murtagh had long shed his armour-like clothing, leaving him in his white underclothes. Even Yurich, hardy even in the worst conditions, seemed to be flagging under the heat.

Thorn glided on thermals, his nose leading the way.

Murtagh shifted in the saddle. -See anything?-

-Nothing.- Thorn replied. -But the sun is high and it's very warm. I scent water. I'll land there.-

-All right. We should rest now, anyway.- Murtagh twisted to look at Yurich. "Thorn's going to land. Hold on."

Still, even with the warning, Yurich howled as Thorn dipped his wings, gripping tighter to the human's waist. Dwarves weren't meant to fly! Thorn leveled out above a small oasis and back-winged to slow his momentum. When he landed, he was careful not to jar his passengers and crouched as the dwarf leapt off his back, near worshipping the solid ground. Murtagh slid off at a more sedate pace, pulling off his and Yurich's belongings before he pulled off the black and silver saddle. Thorn shook himself and moved toward the water, dipping his head to drink. Murtagh filled the water skins first, then took a long drink himself, sitting back with a sigh.

"This desert must go on for miles." He said, staring out at the huge horizon.

Yurich heaved a breath and wiped water from his beard. "Didn't even know there was a desert as large as this one."

"Most things beyond the Beor Mountains have passed into shadow. Hardly anyone remembers them anymore."

Yurich raised an eyebrow. "And how'd ye know of this place?"

"I was told," Murtagh replied, "by creatures who dwell in the mountains of the Spine."

"Creatures?"

"The Fel." Murtagh frowned slightly. Deciding to trust the dwarf, the young Scion launched into his tale, describing his adventures in far less detail and leaving out the name of his teacher. As a last ditch effort, he showed Yurich the book he'd been reading. At the dwarf's confused look, Murtagh sighed. "It's Elvish. Ancient Elvish."

"All I see are scratches." Yurich said around the piece of fruit in his mouth, eyes on Thorn as the dragon slid into the cool waters of the oasis.

"It tells the story of Eragon and Bid'Daum from the very beginning." Murtagh didn't elaborate, thoughtfully chewing his own meal, offering a thick piece of dried meat to Thorn. The dragon took it as gently as possible and climbed out of the water, lying close to his Rider.

"The first Eragon, ye mean." Yurich said. Then he frowned, beginning to wonder about the human across from him. "I can't even read current Elvish. So ye'll have to translate."

Murtagh gave his companion a wan smile. "If you want to listen."

"It's a way tae pass the time."

"So it is." Murtagh, who hadn't gotten far into the book himself, began to speak, reciting from memory what he'd read. When Yurich looked at him expectantly, waiting for more, Murtagh shrugged.

"That's… quite the tale." Yurich said finally, digesting the words. "Though I'd imagine the elves now would have a fit if they heard this."

Murtagh shrugged. "I'm more concerned with them finding out my teacher lives, and needing to stop them from marching on the Spine."

"You think they'd really go after the first Rider?" When Murtagh didn't reply, Yurich gave a low whistle. "Out of curiosity, who do ye think'd win?"

"The Fel." Murtagh replied without hesitation. "They know the land much better than the elves. Besides, they can wait out any who attack. They live underground, beneath the mountain."

Now Yurich grinned. "I like them already."

Murtagh chuckled. "I'd show you Understone if we had the time to fly there and back. We can go after the war. I promised them I'd return."

"Then ye'd better damn well take me!" Yurich's grin widened and he rose to help Murtagh pack. "I'll jus' have tae keep yer ass alive until then."

"I guess so." Murtagh saddled up Thorn and swung on, helping the dwarf once their packs were tied to the saddle. Thorn jiggled, then launched himself into the sky, soaring high in the cool parts of the sky until dusk began, and he slowly glided lower, landing hours later when it was too dark for even Yurich to see.

The trio was not picky, searching for food and water rather than using their own, marking places they landed so they could find their way back. Murtagh told Yurich of the Fel and watched the dwarf's eyes light with curiosity. He told the dwarf stories, and revealed to him Celeb'sûl, the red blade sparkling with an inner light.

The dwarf edged a bit closer, whistling at the sight of the blade. "Ye forged this?" he asked in disbelief.

"Thorn and I did. It's difficult to explain." Murtagh tried his best, but still Yurich looked at him strangely.

Finally, the dwarf swung his hand in dismissal, hiding a yawn rather badly. "Fancy words, boy."

"Get some sleep, dwarf." Murtagh shot back.

The dwarf grumbled, but settled to sleep, putting Murtagh and Thorn at his back. The gesture wasn't lost on the Rider and Murtagh sighed as he settled against Thorn's warm hide, listening to that giant heart make a steady beat. He trusted his wards to keep them safe or to at least warn him before anything dangerous managed to get close enough to kill them.

Thorn was the first to notice something wrong, his eyes blinking open and staring into the distant dark. He heard movement, and knew it wasn't an animal. He lifted his head and snarled softly, letting the vibrations wake his Rider.- Something comes, Murtagh.- He told the young man upon his waking.

Murtagh was on his feet, moving to wake the dwarf, keeping him silent with a finger at his lips. He moved to retrieve his Fel sword, watching Yurich collect his axes. The dwarf peered into the dark, and before Murtagh could stop him, he hurled a throwing axe at the moving thing.

Metal struck metal. "That's no beast." Yurich said as he backed toward Murtagh.

The Rider rolled his eyes. "You think?"

Yurich glared at Murtagh but focused on the coming enemy as Thorn slunk into a better position for teeth, claws, and flame.

-Murtagh, be careful.- Thorn warned his beloved Rider. -There's something strange about what comes.-

Before Murtagh could reply, Yurich launched another throwing axe into the dark. This time, the weapon was met with a flash of blue light and promptly flung back at them. If Murtagh had been any slower in pulling Yurich behind his shield, the throwing axe would've lodged in the dwarf's brain. To the surprise of the trio, men stepped from the shadows, circling the human, dwarf, and dragon. The strange blue glow moved between each man like a ring, all leading back to the robed figure outside the ring of warriors, his hands out-stretched to support the spell. It was this man who spoke.

"Name your purpose here, outlander!"

-I could burn them.- Thorn offered. Murtagh shook his head. He stepped forward, sheathing his Fel blade as he did so. "I was sent by my teacher, the White Rider who lives in the mountains. He said I should seek out those who dwell in the deserts and ask for their aid."

"And why should we aid you?"

"Because the fate of all the free peoples of the world depends on victory of the Varden. There is war on the other side of the mountains west of here, and I need your help."

The masked sorcerer frowned. "That war is none of our concern. Now take your serpent and leave."

Murtagh stepped forward a few steps, raising his hand to point at the sorcerer. "That war is already your concern! He's sent something here to destroy you, to make sure the Varden have no allies when the end comes."

Soft murmuring came from the men who circled them. Yurich stepped a little closer to Murtagh and gripped his axe tighter. "Looks like ye made an impression." Said the dwarf.

Murtagh grunted but otherwise didn't reply. A warrior stepped over to the veiled sorcerer, their heads close together as they conversed. A moment later, the veiled man looked back to Murtagh. "And how would you know of this?"

Murtagh swallowed. "Because I was once slave to the man who sent what hunts you."

The glow dropped then and the robed man moved forward, stepping past a startled Yurich and right into the Rider's personal space. Abruptly, the man took hold of Murtagh's face, forcing Murtagh to meet his eyes. Hard gold orbs bore into Murtagh's own dark orbs, searching for something. Eventually, he pulled back and waved his hand. "Follow us."

Murtagh let out the breath he'd been holding and sheathed his weapon, watching the warriors move to pick up the traveler's belongings before the owners, circling them as the group began to move. The robed man kept close to Murtagh, watching him with his hard gold eyes. Murtagh met that gaze once, feeling strange as he met that gaze, and those gold eyes narrowed above the veil, but he didn't know if it was in amusement or annoyance.

They passed over hundreds of dunes, the trio near flagging when they finally reached the oasis. Murtagh took note of the tents set up around the waters. As they entered, the whole nomadic city seemed to be watching them, children hiding behind their mothers and men holding tight to weapons. The horses tethered nearby whickered a greeting, and the circle of warriors stopped before a line of elders. Murtagh's personal escort moved forward, bowing, speaking quickly in his own language.

Murtagh looked at Yurich. "How're you doing?"

Yurich snorted. "How d'ye think I'm doing?"

-We're not used to this.- Thorn said. -We are used to the Hadarac. This heat is unbearable.-

-We must endure.- Murtagh told the dragon. The robed male moved back to Murtagh then, offering his hand.

"They want to know who you are." The sorcerer said.

Murtagh drew a breath. "I am Murtagh Morzansson and Estel az Ahir-Enei. This is Thorn and Maeglin, and this is Yurich."

"That answers nothing," the sorcerer said. "Who are you?"

"I am a Dragon Rider and Scion, student of Eragon az Ahir-Enei."

Now the robed man translated, then looked back to Murtagh. "And your purpose is to gain yourself an army."

Murtagh smiled bitterly. "That would be it exactly."

The robed man's attention left Murtagh briefly, flicking to the dragon then the dwarf. Finally, his eyes once more sought the Rider's and held them fast. "And of what benefit would it be to the To-Ga-Ir if they were to join you?"

He tried to choose his words carefully. "Knowing safety again? Knowing when you sleep you won't be attacked? I can''t answer in all honesty, because I don't know what the future will bring. I know your people haven't been able to cross to their summer home since Galbatorix took the throne. I know your people are dying because of the As'ratlegûl and if I can help you, perhaps you'll help me."

Murmurs reached Murtagh's ears and he winced. The robed man looked amused. "You really have no tact, do you, boy?"

"I'm not exactly the best diplomat and I don't have time to soothe every ego I bruise. Being as close to the point as possible usually gets a few reactions."

Thorn snorted. -Whether they're good or ill, right?-

"Well, here's your first lesson, child." The veiled man snapped. "You don't tell the people you're asking for help that you'll help them only if they'll help you."

"I didn't mean to…" Murtagh bit his tongue, realizing the murmurs now were amused. He flushed and stared hard at the gold-eyed man.

"Explain to us, then," the man said, "why we should aid you."

Steeling his spine, Murtagh began to speak.


	12. Chapter 12

To-Ga-Ir

Murtagh sat quietly beside Assan, the gold-eyed mage who had first spoken to him. His story had bought him an audience with the other sorcerers of Assan's order and now he was listening to the whole group speak before the To-Ga-Ir's chieftain. Assan argued for Murtagh; at least, that was what Murtagh hoped, and tried to keep himself from making his situation worse. He was already strange enough to these people; he didn't need to ruin his chances by speaking out of turn. Finally, Assan turned to Murtagh.

"They want you to swear on your name that you will do as you say." Assan frowned behind his veil when he saw Murtagh's eyes darken. But the boy nodded and looked to the chieftain.

"I swear to you as Estel az Ahir-Enei, as Murtagh Morzansson, that I will help you against that which hunts you."

There was silence for a time, but finally the chieftain nodded and the tension in the air eased. Assan rose, gesturing for Murtagh to follow, and follow he did. They left the chieftain's tent for another, this one smaller and less ornate, and Thorn greeted them by it. He lay curled like a cat, ruby eyes meeting Assan's before they turned to Murtagh.

-Yurich chose to remain by the water.- Thorn told him. -He says he'll stay out of trouble.-

"Let's hope he does." Murtagh murmured, and disappeared into the tent with Assan. He sat on a pile of pillows when directed, staring wide-eyed at the scrolls around him. Assan passed him a bowl of fruit and nuts, watching the smaller man carefully.

"Don't touch them!" Assan snapped when Murtagh reached for a scroll. He moved then to take the scrolls and put them away, frowning. "Written word is sacred. No one but those who went through the proper training may touch it."

Murtagh watched Assan for a long moment and then turned his attention to the bowl of fruit. He knew Assan was watching him and tried not to flinch. "Tell me," Assan said finally, "do you expect this resistance to believe?"

"No." Murtagh replied with a sigh. "I expect them to try and kill me the moment they see me. But I can hear the land screaming in pain, the trees crying for freedom." He paused, shaking his head. "I don't make any sense."

Assan frowned. "Of course you make sense. What I want to know is how you know the world under this Eragon will be any better."

"I don't know if it'll be any better. I don't know who will be set up to rule. I'm just the guardian of the land."

"Quite the task for someone so small."

"If I don't do it, no one will." Murtagh snapped. "Maybe I won't be alone. Thorn has a brother being kept by Galbatorix. If he hatches, he'll do to him what he did to Thorn and I."

"The enslavement?"

"Beyond that. He has spells that force growth. Thorn went from the size of a cat to what he is now in a matter of weeks."

Assan cursed. "That's a perversion of nature."

Murtagh made an assenting noise and the pair sat in silence for a while. They stared at each other for a while, and Murtagh was the first to look away.

"I'm sorry." He said. "I'm not good at this sort of thing."

Assan's voice held amusement. "You don't say. Well, since I have little other choice, I'll help you get a little better at diplomacy."

They spent the next hours practicing certain scenarios until they were fetched for the communal supper. They sat together if only because Murtagh knew Assan the best and he still felt a little nervous without Thorn beside him. The To-Ga-Ir celebrated this night but Murtagh leaned over to Assan, the only one who didn't share in his tribe's joy. "How many have died?"

"Countless," Assan replied. "What you see here is less than a third of what was."

Murtagh frowned. "Is there a safe place you can take them? And I'll need someone to show me where the monsters dwell."

"This is the safest place we've found so far," the shaman replied. "Wherever we go, they seem to follow. What do you intend?"

"I mean to fight them." Murtagh said. "They were shown to me once, when I was still a slave to their master. I learned a few tricks that might help."

"And you think these tricks can do what we could not?"

"I have to try." Murtagh looked back at Thorn and Yurich, both watching him and Assan. "They'll help me where they can, but other than that…" Murtagh trailed off, sighing.

"You'll need more than your lizard and the Halfling, boy."

"I know." Murtagh frowned, leaning back to look at the sky. "But until I face one, I don't know what else to do."

Assan chuckled. "Well, what would someone do if they can't go alone, but need to go nonetheless?"

"I can't ask you to leave your people."

"They don't need me nearly as much as you seem to." Assan smirked at the glare sent his way. Finally, Murtagh returned the smirk and sighed.

"Perhaps having you aiding me would be a good idea."

"Perhaps so." Assan replied. "Now come. Get your rest. We will go as soon as it's dawn."

Murtagh rose to follow the shaman and looked to Thorn. -Are you ready?-

-No.- The dragon replied. -But we must.-

Murtagh nodded absently and disappeared into Assan's tent, looking to get some sleep before the next task began.

Thorn glided on thermals over the three riders below. All the red dragon carried on his back was his saddle and a pack of supplies the riders below would need. His eyes were far better than those of the two-legs below, and so Thorn warned the riders of things that were coming. This was how they managed to avoid the first contingent of As'ratlegûl. Assan reined in his To-Ga-Ir pony with a gentle tug on his mane, and Murtagh followed his lead. He had to lean to help Yurich, but soon all three had dismounted and Thorn came to land beside them, crouching low.

-They're coming toward us.- Thorn said. -They haven't seen us, but they will shortly.-

"Do we have time for an ambush?" Murtagh asked as he let his pony go. The loyal animal wouldn't go far, but it would stay out of the fighting.

"Probably not." Yurich spat. Thorn agreed with the dwarf and felt the change in his Rider as the human drew his bow and arrows.

"We'll try to surprise them." Murtagh looked at Assan. "Can you provide back-up?"

"What kind of back-up do you want?" the To-Ga-Ir shaman asked, smiling.

"Be creative." Murtagh nocked an arrow and looked to Thorn. -Get high and come down with fire. They'll probably be shielded, but they won't be expecting you.-

-All right.- Thorn spread his wings and prepared to launch himself into the air. -I won't hesitate to land if you're in danger, though.-

-Just don't be stupid.-

-The same goes for you.- Thorn launched himself into the air and rose high into the clouds where his approach would not be seen.

It was too late for the other three, for the contingent of seven As'ratlegûl was upon them. Murtagh managed to launch his single arrow into the eye of one, but it did nothing to deter the attack. Cursing, Murtagh dropped his bow and quiver, and withdrew Celeb'sûl, slamming the hilt into the closet As'ratlegûl's face.

It took Murtagh a moment to realize the foul things were not after him. Assan was their target – they had been commanded to eradicate the To-Ga-Ir only.

Celeb'sûl howled as it came down on a female As'ratlegûl's neck, hewing it clean from her shoulders. An axe lodged in her chest, Yurich snorting as he brought his battle axe up to defend against a lunge as the As'ratlegûl finally realized one of their own was dead. Assan's blue magic was enough to shield him from the worst of attacks, but Murtagh knew the shield wouldn't last. Before he could get over to the shaman, Assan unsheathed a silver scimitar and blocked a strike that would have run him through. Six of the foul things were left; if they were this impossible to kill, how would Murtagh be able to survive?

He ducked under a swing that would've beheaded him and swung Celeb'sûl hard enough that the blade lodged in the foul wraithe's ribs. The male As'ratlegûl cackled in his victory and grabbed onto Murtagh's wrist to keep the boy from disengaging. Murtagh snarled and grabbed the offending hand.

"Tluthker!" he shouted and broke free as the As'ratlegûl's flesh caught on fire. "Talab na khardûn!" Murtagh finished the spell and twisted away with Celeb'sûl in his grip.

The male As'ratlegûl chuckled, thinking Murtagh foolish, for what were a few flames to an undead like him? The fires, however, grew in intensity and would not go out. Murtagh scrambled for his bow and nocked an arrow. "Udrenn azaïr gulhoun." The young Scion whispered and let his arrow fly.

He didn't wait to see if the arrow hit its mark, instead nocking another arrow and aiming it a second male As'ratlegûl, firing it with brisingr adhered to the arrowhead. It lodged in the wraithe's spine and ignited. Assan hurriedly backed away and Yurich howled an oath as he threw another one into the burning As'ratlegûl's head. Bone crunched as the creature dropped and the last death only seemed to incense the final four As'ratlegûl more. They renewed their assault on Assan and both Murtagh and Yurich were hard-pressed to help the shaman.

-Thorn!- Murtagh cried. -We need you!-

-I come.-

Thorn was a dark bullet hurtling out of the sky, wings folded tight to his body and head angled down as flames licked at his lips. Murtagh threw up a shield around Assan before Thorn's fire engulfed him and he could hear the shaman cursing within the red, iridescent orb. Thorn shot up as the As'ratlegûl burned and banked, coming down for another pass. This time, one was ready for the dragon. A bolt of red light crashed into Thorn's chest, burning scales to the point they had begun to slough off. Thorn howled in pain and back-winged, trying to slow his momentum before he hit the waiting pike. Murtagh nocked another arrow.

"Alaün na Talab!" yelled the young Rider as he loosed his arrow. The very tip of it limned in red electricity as the black shaft erupted in flame. The arrow impacted the As'ratlegûl with a thunderous clap and the concussion wave hit Thorn with enough force that it likely saved his life. The young dragon tumbled in the air and managed to crash into a soft dune. The As'ratlegûl howled as he clawed at the arrow, but it was too late. He burst into flame and let out a terrifying howl as he collapsed in on himself.

The remaining two charged toward Murtagh, their filmed eyes focused on the young Rider. Murtagh brought up Celeb'sûl and used his bow to deflect an attack made for his throat. Yurich cackled as his last throwing axe crashed into one As'ratlegûl's skull. "Come on then, ye stinkin' demon!" he howled and bowled one over as he rushed it.

"Do you really think it's a good idea to antagonize them?" Murtagh asked breathlessly as he blocked a downward strike with Celeb'sûl's cross-guard and slammed the end of his bow into his opponent's sightless eye.

"As if we're not doin' that already!" Yurich yelled back. "Shaman, a little help?" He tumbled between his opponent's legs at the last second.

Assan cursed and swung his hand, collecting a dust devil to do his bidding. Thorn rolled out of his dune and roared. The dust devil solidified, the sand crystallizing as the creation became a golem. Murtagh cursed and disengaged from his opponent, rushing for Yurich to pull the dwarf back as the crystal golem fell upon the remaining two As'ratlegûl. Yurich struggled against Murtagh until he watched an arm land at his feet and blanched.

"The thing's twisted." He muttered. Murtagh sheathed Celeb'sûl and rolled his eyes, moving to Thorn and examining his chest. He whispered a healing spell over the flesh and Thorn squirmed as scales quickly regrew to shield his flesh once more.

Assan stared at Murtagh with a new respect. "You weren't harmed?" he asked.

Murtagh shook his head. "Not seriously. A couple scratches and bruises, nothing to be concerned about." He looked the shaman up and down. "How are you?"

"Whole."

"And I'm fine, thanks for askin'!" Yurich spat. He hefted his axe to his shoulder as he eyed Murtagh. "Ye fight well, fer a human."

"I've fought a few worse things, but they were easy to kill." Murtagh replied as he turned to examine the rapidly decaying bodies of their enemies. "These are like the Immortals, but not even a beheading seems enough."

Assan snorted. "It's seven less we have to worry about."

"There were thirty-nine." Murtagh said as he looked at Assan from beneath his bangs. "If we've only managed to kill seven there are still thirty-two to deal with."

"Now there is where you're wrong, Sharru-Kinu," Assan said with a smile. "We have managed to kill twenty before your arrival. Now we four only have to worry about twelve."

Sharru-Kinu? Murtagh shook his head. "Twelve then."

"Doesn't seem so bad." Yurich muttered. "Twelve against four. Sounds fair."

"Let's try not to have this happen again." Murtagh said finally. "We were able to win this time, but they'll be expecting us."

Unfortunately, Assan and Yurich agreed with him. The To-Ga-Ir shaman whistled for the ponies and Murtagh turned inward for a moment, seeking advice from one who wasn't present.

Elysian wasn't pleased that she was woken from her slumber, but she curbed her irritation when Murtagh told her what had happened. The great purple dragon listened quietly and then gave her advice.

-I wasn't an instrument in their creation, so I don't know for certain, but a strike to the heart shall do that which it is meant to.- She told the young Scion. -They aren't Shades, but they aren't human or elf either. Something keeps them alive. You must find it.-

-How will I know it?-

-You will.-

"Murtagh?" Yurich nudged the Rider as he came out of his trance. "You okay?"

"Yeah." The young man replied. "I was just thinking."

"Well, you can think in the saddle." Assan said. "We still have a long way to go."

Murtagh nodded and looked to Thorn. "Fly ahead and be my eyes?"

Thorn canted his head and watched his Rider for a moment. -Always.- He spread his wings and launched into the air, gliding easily along thermals as he rose higher.

Murtagh mounted his pony after retrieving his arrows and quiver, and tapped his heels against the animal's sides. It whickered and obliged its rider, wide hooves easily pressing down sand for a speedy gait. They rode without incident and when night finally fell, Murtagh moved to confront Assan. The shaman didn't look surprised to find the Rider within his personal space and smiled slightly. Murtagh frowned.

"You called me Sharru-Kinu."

"So I did."

Murtagh's frown increased at the amusement in Assan's voice. "What is it?"

"You have learned nothing in our short time? My people called you Sharru-Kinu since you were accepted as To-Ga-Ir. Even Thorn was given a new name, as well as the dwarf." Assan watched Murtagh's eyes darken. His face seemed pale behind the Scionmark. "It means 'true king' in the language of the To-Ga-Ir. Our people believe only kings are gifted with the custody of a dragon as well as one who has had the grace to learn from those who vanished long ago."

Murtagh blinked. "The Fel?"

"The Fel. They were stories when I was born, but you've revealed to us the truth in your weapons and clothes and manner." Assan smiled a little. "Thorn is called Khalada."

-Eternal and everlasting.- The red replied. -You were preoccupied. I would've told you, but it didn't seem important.-

Murtagh reached to touch Thorn's warm muzzle. "We seem to be collecting names, aren't we?"

"Sometimes," Assan said, "that isn't a bad thing."

"No. I suppose not." Murtagh replied softly.

Whatever moment Murtagh and Assan had then was shattered by a loud Dwarven snore. Sighing, Murtagh moved to get some rest, knowing his journey was far from over.


	13. Chapter 13

To My Father I…

They didn't encounter any more As'ratlegûl as they rode. The ponies tirelessly moved forward and even Thorn had to land when it became too hot for him to fly. The companions kept moving forward and filled the time with stories and training. Assan put Murtagh through the drills to be a To-Ga-Ir shaman so he would no longer offend the older man when he opened Estel's book. Murtagh learned about Yurich's own plight in more detail and promised he would help the dwarf in any way he could. For a while it seemed as though the companions were just traveling the world and swapping stories, but their purpose was still clear in their minds. Murtagh often consulted Elysian or Hazamel or Nosirius as they were the only ones who were able to manifest when the moonlight was able to break through the increasing cloud cover. Sometimes, they allowed Assan to join them, sometimes they didn't. Thorn was always with Murtagh, though, and he marveled at his brethren.

They were getting closer to their goal day after day, as the skies darkened with clouds as black as smoke and that jumped with electricity. Thorn refused to fly and none could fault him. The harsh, sandy terrain slowly changed to stone and Assan soon refused to take the ponies further into the desolate place.

"They will wait here." Assan said as he patted his mare's neck. "We must go on foot."

"Works fer me." Yurich quipped, grateful for solid ground. "I like havin' my feet on solid earth. No offense, Thorn."

Thorn chuckled. -None taken.- He angled his head away from the three below him and looked out onto the horizon. -Evil lives in this place.-

"And unfortunately, that's where we have to go." Murtagh said. "We leave everything but what's essential behind." He tightened his Elvish knife to his thigh and fastened Celeb'sûl and his Fel blade to his back and hips respectively. "And let's try not to eat anything from this point forward."

Yurich looked at him curiously. "Why?"

"It will become fouled." Assan answered for Murtagh. "These lands are now held by vengeful spirits that will try to kill you."

"And that's if you're lucky." Murtagh added. He eyed the dwarf with a smirk. "Still want to go?"

Yurich cursed and spat. "'Course I'm goin'! Can trust a skinny shaman and a fire-breathin' lizard to watch your back."

Thorn shot Yurich a glare, but Murtagh only laughed. "Very well. Come on. Keep your eyes open and don't stray from the path. Thorn, follow behind."

-Better that way. I can catch foolish dwarves unaware and nip them.- As if to prove his point, Thorn nudged Yurich hard enough that the dwarf nearly lost his balance. Yurich yelped and snarled at the red dragon, but the one with the more impressive set of teeth won that battle.

Murtagh shook his head. "Let's go."

The four headed into the diseased land single-file, Murtagh leading as his shielding spells proved the strongest. Thorn's nostrils flared as he picked up many strange scents. He thought he smelled deer, fat and juicy deer just waiting for his fangs and claws. What a feast he would have! He would have enough to feed not only himself but also his mate and clutch! He took a step forward, scenting the kill.

-Thorn!- Murtagh's voice was loud, pained. Thorn tore himself away from the deer-scent to stare at his Rider. Murtagh was starting to sweat, his left hand outstretched and in a fist. Thorn looked down and found himself suspended off a ledge. He flared his wings and helped Murtagh pull him back to safety.

-I'm sorry.- Thorn said mournfully.

-It's all right.- Murtagh replied with a gentle smile. -If you get any bigger, though, you're on your own.-

Thorn buzzed annoyance, but he planted his feet and focused on his Rider. The scents teased him again, but he ignored them this time. Assan and Yurich had roamed ahead, so Thorn felt a little better knowing they hadn't seen his slip. Murtagh didn't tell the mighty dragon they too had been caught in the same trap. The four came to stand on the lip of a canyon and stared out onto the blackened landscape.

"This once was green." Assan said. "There were once fields here, and many people. Those ruins in the distance, they were homes and temples. Then the demons came and destroyed it all."

"Will it ever be green again?" Yurich asked.

"Not in our lifetime." Murtagh replied. He looked at the dwarf and canted his head. "The taint runs too deep. It could take hundreds, even thousands of years before something green grows here. Not even all the Dragon Riders, past, present, and future could cleanse this place."

Yurich frowned. "How sad."

"All we can do now is protect those who may yet still be able to live here." Murtagh said. "Once we destroy the rest of the As'ratlegûl, the spirits will be able to rest."

"You sure?"

"It's a gut feeling."

Assan snorted. "Let's hope your gut doesn't get us killed."

-Only one way to find out.- Thorn said. He shook himself and nodded. -We must go.-

Murtagh put a hand on Celeb'sûl's hilt and took a deep breath. Then he began his descent into the wide canyon that the To-Ga-Ir once called home.

A thick most rose close to nightfall. It was hard to tell when it was exactly true night, for the dark clouds blocked all starlight and moonlight into the cursed lands. The three bipeds huddled against Thorn's side for warmth, not wanting to risk a fire in the fog. They slept little and in shifts, for they could hear the howling of the spirits and As'ratlegûl, and none wanted to be caught unawares. Murtagh was the one who was awake most often, dozing here and there but careful not to let his senses stretch too far.

When they walked, they walked in complete silence, not daring to speak even if they felt they must. The mist grew thicker, becoming almost a mire the further the quartet went into the cursed lands. Above, thunder clapped as the skies jumped with electricity, illuminating the world for them. Still in the distance charred ruins rose, beckoning them further at the same time repelling them. Murtagh tightened his grip on Celeb'sûl and pushed forward, hardly feeling safe in his Fel-made armour. He froze as the misty mire that surrounded their hips began to slowly dissipate, sinking down to their ankles. Thorn raised his head and rumbled lowly, voicing his displeasure at the changing scenery. Yurich shifted uneasily on the dragon's back.

"They know we're here." The dwarf whispered, letting Murtagh help him slide off the great serpent's back. The young Rider looked around him and frowned.

"They know and yet they don't attack." Murtagh heard Assan say. "Why?"

"Because they're waiting." Murtagh replied. "They want to see who we are, what we'll do. We destroyed seven of their number; they don't want to be hasty."

"Or perhaps their leader just told them to wait until we get closer." Yurich muttered, taking a better hold of his axe.

-Something doesn't feel right.- Thorn told Murtagh. -The elders are silent, all save for my dam. She is weeping.-

Murtagh held up his hand and motioned for silence, listening for what couldn't be heard. The Rider felt his dragon's wariness as he felt his own, and tried to sense the As'ratlegûl within the ruins. Instead, he brushed against a consciousness that was familiar and foreign and felt it welcoming him, drawing him closer.

Thorn roared a warning and Assan grabbed onto Murtagh's outstretched wrist in a tight grip. The Rider gasped as he felt at least a dozen other consciousnesses battering against the Scion mark's shield and if it weren't for Assan, Murtagh would've fallen to his knees. He was able to recover in time to aid in shielding his friends as three As'ratlegûl came at them howling in victory. They battered against the huge iridescent shield, snarling and chortling as they fought to get at the four within.

"Well, ye certainly pissed 'em off now!" Yurich shouted at Murtagh as he readied his battleaxe as the shield began to fail.

"They didn't have what they wanted until now!" Murtagh hissed to the dwarf. -Thorn, I need you to get Assan and Yurich out of here!-

Thorn roared in anger. -I will NOT leave you!-

-They won't hurt me!-

-You don't know that!-

The shield shattered and the three As'ratlegûl came at them. Murtagh snarled at the stubbornness of dragons and withdrew Celeb'sûl, blocking and As'ratlegûl's blade as it thrust toward his chest. He spun his red-bladed scimitar and knocked the sword wide, stabbing forward as he came across with his Elvish dagger, slicing his opponent's throat. The As'ratlegûl cackled at the failed attempt to kill him and brought up his sword to kill the Rider now that he was within the guard of his opponent. An axe slammed hard into the foul creature's head and Murtagh wrenched free, staring at Yurich. The dwarf snorted.

"Ye made me a promise, remember?" the dwarf shouted as he hauled up on his battleaxe as he lunged toward a new opponent.

"How could I forget?" Murtagh muttered and ducked as Thorn's tail soared over his head to crash into Murtagh's foe, snapping the body in half. Murtagh stared up at the dragon and saw those crimson orbs glaring at him.

-Stubborn human!- Thorn snarled. -If I didn't share your heart I would think you were trying to get killed!-

Murtagh blinked and turned to throw his knife at Assan who was pinned down by his own opponent. The To-Ga-Ir shaman whirled, striking twice with his own weapon, turning the As'ratlegûl into the trajectory of Murtagh's Elvish knife. The weapon broke bone as it drove into the creature's chest, burying in his heart. The demon choked and writhed and both Murtagh and Thorn recoiled as they heard the dying scream of a dragon as the As'ratlegûl died. Yurich's opponent was distracted long enough for the dwarf to slam the blade of his axe into her head and split it open. A few more strikes drove the As'ratlegûl apart, and Yurich spat on the corpse and turned to the ruins, axe held high.

"Is that all ye've got, demon!" Yurich yelled, euphoric on quick victory.

Assan retrieved Murtagh's knife and glared at the dwarf as the small warrior moved back to the others with a smirk. Murtagh stared at the dead once-Riders and shuddered. Thorn's nose bumped his shoulder.

-They're like you and I.- Murtagh told the dragon, placing a hand on the warm red snout. -A perversion of a Scion-bond.-

Thorn blew smoke and shook himself. -To kill a Rider is to kill the dragon. That's why the blow to the heart will kill them.-

"Murtagh?" Assan questioned softly. "What troubles you?"

Murtagh took his knife back and sighed. "These are Riders. They were killed in the war before I was born and Galbatorix turned them into demons."

"If they're Riders," Assan began, "where are their dragons?"

It was like reflex; both Assan and Yurich turned to look at the skies as if expecting an entire flight of dragons to come down on them. Murtagh gave a bitter smile.

"In their hearts." He said. "If a Rider dies, so does his dragon. If the dragon dies, the Rider can live on if he chooses. But these… if I understand correctly, when Galbatorix killed the dragons and took their Eldunari, he made wraiths out of the Riders by binding their consciousnesses, their souls, to their dragons'." Murtagh laughed derisively. "A perversion of the Scion-bond."

"How cruel." Assan muttered, staring not at Murtagh's face but at his heart. "So it's true then, that Thorn's Eldunari resides within you."

"I am his heart of hearts and he is mine." Murtagh answered. He shook his head before more questions could be asked of him. "I don't understand everything myself, but now isn't the time to dwell on such matters."

"Right." Yurich said with a grin. "We've got nine more of these demons to deal with deeper in."

"Eight." Murtagh corrected the dwarf. "You three have to deal with eight. I'll take care of the ninth."

Thorn looked about to argue. Murtagh could feel his worry and apprehension. Murtagh looked at the mighty dragon and tried to smile. "They'll need you more than I will."

-Doesn't mean I won't worry for you.- Thorn rested his chin on Murtagh's shoulder. -How will I talk with them?-

Murtagh beckoned Assan to him and before the shaman could protest, he placed Assan's hand on Thorn's snout. The shaman jerked when he felt a spark against his palm and stared wide-eyed at the Scion. -Don't be afraid.- Murtagh told the To-Ga-Ir. -I need to be able to talk to you, and you need to be able to talk to Thorn.-

Assan's eyes flicked to Thorn. -Dragon.-

-Elf-kin.- Thorn rumbled. His ruby gaze turned then to Murtagh. -I will keep them safe.-

Murtagh nodded and spent a few silent moments instructing Assan before he withdrew from the shaman's mind. "Once you've completed your tasks, we'll meet right back here."

Yurich's eyes focused on Murtagh. "Sounds like you're giving us the difficult job."

Murtagh's smile as humourless. "Maybe. But you'll survive it. Besides, the eight As'ratlegûl will be easy compared to their leader."

"And ye mean to fight him alone?"

"I must."

Yurich eyed the human and shook his head. "Why we all can't go is a mystery to me. But fine. I'll scratch my itch with the underlings."

"There'll be plenty more things for your axe to kill." Murtagh told the dwarf. "This I have to do alone."

The wind howled suddenly, as if a thousand voices were calling in a war dirge. Assan whispered something in his native tongue and even Yurich cursed. Murtagh stood his ground with the hilt of Celeb'sûl clutched in his right hand. Thorn flared his wings and snarled softly, twitching his tail agitatedly as he felt what Murtagh did – a presence drawing them closer and yet repelling them at the same time. His crimson eyes focused on the interior of the ruins and, as much as the dragon hated it, he knew this trial was for his Rider alone.

Murtagh took a few steps forward, then turned to look at his friends. "Remember, we'll meet right back here."

Assan nodded and gestured at Yurich. He placed a hand on Murtagh's shoulder and bent his head forward. Murtagh repeated the gesture and felt a strange little jolt when the crown of his head touched Assan's. They stayed that way only briefly and Assan nodded when they pulled apart. "Protect yourself."

"You do the same." Murtagh's eyes went to Thorn. -You know what to do.-

-I will defend.- Thorn canted his head at his Rider, then turned to follow Assan and Yurich as they moved into the eastern side of the ruins. Murtagh waited until he could no longer see them before he turned and headed into the northern part of the once-great keep, Celeb'sûl drawn and ready. Hazamel's opal flickered as he keyed one of the spells he had imbued it with, limning him in an almost invisible crimson light. While it rendered him invisible to the normal eye, it illuminated him in the dragon's spectrum, and allowed him to see in the dimness he was surrounded in.

The air around him seemed to get heavier and a mist began to swirl about his ankles. He heard the sounds of fighting and Thorn talking to Assan, but he ignored his beloved dragon's voice and focused on his own task.

He stepped carefully, finally raising his left fist above his head. "." A soft glow began in his palm and Murtagh entered into a wide chamber with a broken ceiling. He supposed this must've been the throne room for there were ruined tapestries still clinging to the stone. He slowly made his way to a sconce and leaned close to it. "Brisingr." The sconce erupted with flame.

The flame raced along a groove in the wall, igniting other sconces and rendering Murtagh's two spells useless. He extinguished them and turned to face the figure that reclined in the broken throne.

Murtagh smiled bitterly, hate shining in his eyes. "Hello, Father."


	14. Chapter 14

Truth or Lies?

Morzan unfolded himself from the throne of the To-Ga-Ir and smiled lazily at his son. Murtagh stood his ground, standing in a three-quarter turn, Celeb'sûl at his side. He was ready, balancing on the balls of his feet, all of Yozh's training culminating into this moment. Murtagh's only memory of this man was a violent drunkard, a man who was his sire, never a father. Morzan slowly stepped down the dais to the floor, separated from Murtagh only by a handful of meters. There was no indication those filmed blue and green eyes recognized the youth, and Murtagh fought to keep from giving in to impatience.

"You've grown well." Morzan spoke finally as they began to circle. "How fares your mother?"

Murtagh kept his face blank. "She's dead." He replied. "She died not long after you."

Morzan's face twitched. "I see. And my old friend Brom?"

"Dead as well."

"Pity." Morzan smiled. To his hand a sword appeared, a ghostly image of Zar'roc, the sword that had been broken. "I would've enjoyed returning the favour."

Murtagh frowned and continued to circle as his father circled, ready for any hint of an attack. He received no warning, however, and barely managed to dodge Morzan's lunge, knocking aside the ghostly Zar'roc with Celeb'sûl and opening Morzan's throat with his Elvish knife. The wound would've killed a mortal man, but for Morzan, it was no consequence. His flesh healed almost instantly and he laughed at the attempt.

"Well done! You've learned well from Tornac!" Morzan turned to face his son, grinning.

"It wasn't Tornac who taught me that." Murtagh spat.

Now Morzan frowned. "Who then? Not… Galbatorix?"

Why did Morzan sound worried? "No." Murtagh replied. "Not Galbatorix. A weaponsmaster as cruel and as kind as they come and a man who was more a father to me than you ever were!"

Now Morzan's face twisted into a mask of hatred. "What lies did she fill your head with? I was more a father to you than Selena was your mother!"

"You took me away from her! You gave me this scar on my back! You ruined my life by giving me your name and yet," Murtagh snarled, calming himself as they began to circle again. "And yet you gave me the greatest gift of all. Just like you, I'm a Rider. Just like my brother."

Morzan froze. "Your brother? I have another son?"

"Yes! His name is Eragon. Three years my junior." Murtagh heard the bitterness in his own voice. "And because of you, mother ran away to give birth to him. Because of you, our lives that were once separate entangled. Because of you."

Morzan was in his face before Murtagh registered the movement. He blocked Zar'roc with Celeb'sûl, the two blades sparking as they came together. Murtagh was forced back and disengaged with a spin, coming back at his father with a series of cuts and thrusts, the latter short and controlled, looking for an opening. Murtagh was an instrument of his training, thinking of only his next motion and nothing else, focused on Morzan and everything around him, backing his father up against a wall. Morzan kicked out and caught Murtagh in the side as the young Rider twisted to avoid it and reversed their positions, pinning Murtagh to the wall. Morzan snarled.

"All I've ever tried to do was protect you!" Morzan roared. "When you were born it was the happiest moment of my life! It was at that moment when I first held you that I realized my mistake. But it was too late for me. Yes, I took you away from Selena. Yes, I kept you from worldly knowledge. I was never there for you when I should've been! But don't you accuse me of cursing you, Murtagh! I loved you! I still love you!" Morzan stared at Murtagh for along moment, then tilted his head. "If words aren't enough, then perhaps I'll show you."

Pinning Murtagh to the wall with every ounce of strength the As'ratlegûl possessed, Morzan pressed his palm to Murtagh's Scionmark. All Murtagh could see was Morzan's gëdwey ignasia and then nothing at all.

He awoke to screaming. Murtagh opened his eyes and found himself outside a familiar wooden door, watching a familiar man pace back and forth. Murtagh listened to his mother scream again and heard the midwives coo to her, and watched Morzan flinch each time Selena cried out.

"I was a nervous wreck." Morzan said from behind the young man. Murtagh looked sharply at his father and was met with a mild gaze. "We had lost Kialandi only the week before and another had vanished not long after. The Varden were increasing their attacks and as much as I needed to be out with my surviving brethren, I knew that this was far more important."

Selena's screaming had stopped, but now a baby's wail filled the silence. A midwife opened the door to admit Morzan, and the As'ratlegûl and Scion followed the Forsworn into the bedchamber. Selena lay surrounded by pillows, eyes closed and her head turned away from the wet-nurse holding an infant. She shook her head and closed her eyes tighter.

"She won't take the babe, milord." The midwife was saying to Morzan. "She won't hold her son."

Morzan frowned and took from the wet-nurse his son, moving over to Selena. "Why won't you hold your child?"

"I don't want it." Selena snarled, now glaring at Morzan. "I don't want to have anything to do with it. It will hamper my skills, and I can't afford that."

"He's your son." Morzan protested.

Selena sniffed and looked away from the Forsworn Rider. Morzan didn't say anything more then, turning to the midwife and wet-nurse. To the former he left his wife, to the latter he gave the charge of his son. Out of earshot of Selena, Morzan stroked his son's face.

"His name is Murtagh." Morzan said softly. "Allow him to believe his mother loves him, and keep silent for his sake."

"As you wish my lord."

Murtagh turned to stare at the As'ratlegûl. "Is that true?"

Morzan laughed bitterly. "It wasn't she who changed after your birth. Your mother was a cruel and cunning woman. She was my perfect weapon and my perfect folly. She knew how to use you against me."

The memory wavered and vanished and now Murtagh found himself watching an all-too familiar memory. He saw himself at precious three years old, sitting by Morzan's legs as the man calmly read to him from a volume stolen from Galbatorix's collection. Murtagh remembered the book – it had detailed dragons and fueled his dreams of them. The door to the sitting room opened to admit Selena and she looked at the young Murtagh with disgust. Morzan slowly closed the book and rose to greet her but she turned away from him.

"Your king calls you." Selena said without feeling. "Go. Go! I will watch Murtagh."

The young Scion flinched at the disgust in his mother's voice. She had truly hated him? He watched Morzan hesitate then nod, and leave the woman with the boy.

"I shouldn't have left you." The wraithe spoke in a said, grieving whisper. "I shouldn't have left you with her. She had already met Brom, had fallen in love with him. You were in her way, Murtagh. In her own ambitions you were only a tool to make me suffer."

"What does Brom have to do with this?" Murtagh asked, knowing what was coming but unable to look away.

"Brom began the Varden. He commissioned the eggs to be stolen and got away with only Saphira's. He changed your mother, no doubt telling her anything he could to gain her trust. No doubt he told her that you would follow in my footsteps and that your brother would as well." Morzan stared at the woman he once loved as she circled the little boy who kept reading the discarded book. Her hands reached for Zar'roc and she smiled so sweetly when the child looked up at her.

"Look. Dragon." Murtagh said proudly as he pointed at the picture in the book.

Selena's smile never reached her eyes. "Yes. A dragon." She raised Zar'roc over her head and brought it down hard, intending to kill. Murtagh reached out to stop Selena, but it was a memory, and his hand passed through her. Zar'roc came down and Selena laughed at the child's horrible cry of pain. Blood was everywhere, pouring from the diagonal wound on the little boy's back. Morzan never once looked away and felt his son's trembling.

Selena dropped Zar'roc and fled.

Morzan turned to Murtagh and spoke softly, "I returned almost too late. You would've bled to death."

"I should've been dead." Murtagh murmured. "Why did I survive it?"

"Because as twisted as I had become, I still loved you." Morzan replied. "Love is powerful magic, Murtagh. It binds us together and becomes our strength. Zar'roc didn't kill you because it was an extension of myself and imbued with my love for you."

Murtagh closed his eyes.

When he reopened them, they were back in the broken throne room and Morzan pulled away from Murtagh. Murtagh stared at the As'ratlegûl and tried to keep his face neutral. "How do I know you're not lying to me?"

"What reason do you have to believe I am?" Morzan countered. "I wasn't the best father or the best man I could be, but I loved you. You became my life." Morzan's blue and green eyes focused on Murtagh's own dark ones. "You know how that feels, don't you?"

Murtagh fought back the flush that threatened to take over his face. Morzan stepped back a bit more and summoned to him his ghostly Zar'roc. "If he's your life, then defeat me to protect him."

Murtagh tightened his hand around Celeb'sûl's hilt and realized his father wasn't talking about Thorn. They circled each other again, stepping slowly and waiting for an opening. Murtagh lunged first, coming in low. Morzan cut Zar'roc across before him to stay Murtagh's attack, but the young man twisted, performing an aerial roll with his arms pulled tight to his chest. He landed in a rolling crouch and he threw his Elvish dagger at Morzan's heart. The As'ratlegûl brought his hand up to block the knife and charged at Murtagh. The young Rider danced back, parrying the vicious, rough cuts Zar'roc made. The two blades sparked as they came together and Murtagh's arm shook with the force of the blows. When he managed to break away, Murtagh grabbed the hilt of his Fel sword and brought it out for a dual-wielding style.

He saw the surprise in Morzan's eyes and let go of the part of him that felt emotions. All of Yozh's training had created a place in his mind where it was calm and quiet and Murtagh was an instrument of his training. He let go of his fears and worries and focused on Morzan. Murtagh's only warning to his father was the release of a soft breath. Then the Scion moved. He feinted left and jerked right at the last second, Celeb'sûl in his left hand cutting for Morzan's throat as he twisted to bring his right hand up and across with the Fel blade. Morzan was able to deflect Celeb'sûl but not the Fel blade, and the flat blade crashed into the side of his face with enough force to knock out a few teeth. Murtagh didn't stop, twisting around with his momentum.  
Morzan kicked out at Murtagh's back when he had the chance and watched in fascination as the young man fell into a tumble that brought him back to his feet.

"Who taught you?" Morzan asked.

Murtagh tilted his head. "Someone who has passed out of all memory." He answered and came on.

Morzan found he was hard pressed to get within Murtagh's defenses, faced with two blades instead of one. The young Rider was a master in the dual-wielding style he used, one always attacking, and the other defending, making Morzan work. He was wholly focused on his task, never once straying or stopping to calculate a move. Murtagh simply lived the motions. Morzan couldn't help his smile and gave everything he had to this fight.

Morzan thrust forward with Zar'roc and the blow was knocked wide by Celeb'sûl's gold-dragon wing hilt guard. Murtagh brought the Fel blade down in an arc and the blade pierced Morzan's chest. It missed his heart by a span of a few inches, but it still drove Morzan down to the floor. Zar'roc cut Murtagh's forearm and the young Rider let go of the Fel blade's hilt as Murtagh backed away from his father.

"Well done." Morzan said as he spat out dark, dead blood. He grasped the Fel blade's hilt and pulled it out, tossing it away from him. "But you missed."

Murtagh's head canted slightly. "There's something you aren't telling me. What secret are you keeping?"

"I have many secrets and she knows them all." Morzan replied as he stalked toward his on. Zar'roc came forward in a series of lightning quick jabs, forcing Murtagh to parry or be filled with holes.

Murtagh broke away and spun low, kicking Morzan's legs out from under him. The Forsworn fell hard and Murtagh grabbed for Zar'roc, throwing it away from his father. He didn't stop there, quickly straddling Morzan and driving Celeb'sûl through his heart. Morzan laughed, a wet, choking sound and he stared up at his son, nodding. "Well done." Morzan coughed out. "Well done, my son."

Murtagh knelt above his father, staring down at the As'ratlegûl reached to touch his face. His fingers trailed down the tail of the Scion mark and took one of Murtagh's hands in his own. Murtagh looked down in his palm and found there a pendant on a silver chain. The stone was a clear violet shining with blue and red hues and pulsing with magic. "What is this?" he asked his father.

"My last gift to you." Morzan said in gasping breaths. "It belonged to someone I knew once. He told me I would know when to pass it on. Use it to store your extra energies, like the opal in your sword."

"Father?"

Morzan remained silent, staring with glassy eyes at Murtagh. The young Scion reached to close Morzan's eyes and rose, clasping that silver chain around his neck.

-Finally… finally he is free.-

Murtagh listened to Morzan's dragon speak, retrieving his weapons as he did so. When her voice faded away, Murtagh stood above his father, pretending he wasn't crying. He reached out and held his left hand over Morzan's chest, palm down. He took a soft breath and spoke softly in the language of Eragon his teacher.

"Adonai et azora ketân. Undal ohash jira'ashi. Ahnata kuhra'ash shin." He took another breath and let it out slowly. "Morzan tluthker na tirash. Nun na aish."

A flame jetted down from Murtagh's palm and danced on Morzan's chest for a moment before the body ignited. Murtagh jumped slightly as Assan placed a hand on his shoulder and drew him back a few steps.

"It is done?" the shaman asked softly.

"It is done." Murtagh replied, keeping his back to Yurich and Thorn. Thorn brushed against Murtagh's inner barriers to comfort him and Assan gently brushed a tear from Murtagh's face. "Now we go back."

Assan nodded and leaned his head inward. Murtagh repeated the gesture until their foreheads touched and the Scion sighed. "It isn't over."

"No." Assan agreed. "But now we go to your lands with an army behind you."

Murtagh nodded and looked to Yurich who had busied himself with his remaining throwing axes. He was grateful that the dwarf had given him a private moment and called silently to Thorn. The dragon's ruby eyes focused on the pendant his Rider now wore. -That is Eluna.- Thorn said in awe. -It belonged to a druid who guarded a precious treasure.-

-Eluna.- Murtagh repeated. He touched the pendant and heard Yurich snort. "What?"

"I was wrong about ye, Murtagh." Yurich said, now looking at the human. "Let's go win that war."

Murtagh looked to Thorn then and canted his head. -Are you ready?-

Thorn blinked. -No. But we must.-

Murtagh nodded and moved with Assan and Yurich out of the ruins, heading back for the To-Ga-Ir encampment in victory. But Murtagh didn't feel so victorious.


	15. Chapter 15

Five Days

Murtagh once more sat beside Assan as the shaman spoke to the To-Ga-Ir chieftain on his behalf. He heard Yurich grumbling behind him, anxious to head back to Alagaësia, but the dwarf wisely kept his noises barely audible. The news of the As'ratlegûl's defeat had spread like wildfire among the survivors, and in celebration, riders had been sent to find any other To-Ga-Ir living in the deserts. But Murtagh didn't have the time to wait for additional forces. He had to leave now.

Assan nodded slightly and looked to Murtagh. "He says he will send all the warriors he can, and his banner will fly beside yours."

"He's going to come?" Murtagh asked in surprise. Chieftain Kaucha wasn't a young man, but he was still muscular and wiry, still able to wield his sword as well as any warrior.

Assan frowned. "He would fight beside you. Don't your kings and queens fight with their people?"

"Not really, no." Murtagh answered. Assan translated at Kaucha's request and the warriors around them muttered curses.

Assan sighed. "A true king fights beside his people, not behind. So yes, he will fight, along with his warriors."

Murtagh was about to say something when Kaucha leaned forward and grinned. "You are family, Sharru-Kinu." Assan translated.

"Family?" Murtagh whispered.

"I have no sons," Assan spoke softly. "I have a daughter, Hatori, who is as strong as any man, but she needs a brother. She needs a brother who will show her the correct way to live her life, to teach her sons. You have no sire to teach you, though you've chosen your father and you honour him every day you breathe." Assan took a breath, trying to school his emotions. "And so I ask you to become my son, to honour me as you honour your chosen father, and to take as your sister Hatori. Sharru-Kinu, do me this honour."

Murtagh was speechless. Everyone in the tent was speechless, holding his or her breath and waiting for the young man's answer. Thorn, curled outside the tent, began to rumble lowly, purring his agreement.

"Sharru-Kinu you have named me," Murtagh said softly, "and so Sharru-Kinu will become Kaucha's son. Sharru-Kinu will become Hatori's brother, and he will honour his family, his tribe, each day he breathes."

Assan translated. Murtagh felt as though a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders and shifted a little closer to Assan. The shaman smiled at him with all the cheers coming from the warriors and said, "Welcome home."

Murtagh smiled only slightly bitterly. "A home I must leave now."

Indeed they had no more time to waste and Kaucha hurried their preparations. Assan took Yurich with him to prepare their packs and Murtagh moved to saddle Thorn. All around them, the To-Ga-Ir warriors moved, preparing for Murtagh's flight. Thorn's head lowered to touch the outstretched hands of a young woman and hummed. Murtagh paused to look at her.

She smiled. "You must be Sharru-Kinu, my brother."

"Hatori?" Murtagh questioned. Like all To-Ga-Ir women, her hair was braided in a straight black line down her back, and her eyes were lined with blue-coloured kohl. She nodded lightly.

"My father, our father, told me I should come see you off. You will go ahead of us, and we will come in five days." Hatori gave one last pat to Thorn's nose. "I have no sons, so I cannot fight beside you, but I intend to help you."

She reached for a lock of Murtagh's long dark hair and tied in a bright red leather thong. Attached to the thong were several blue glass beads and a single feather from a desert eagle. "This way, I will help you fight, my brother."

Murtagh touched the tong and smiled a little. "Thank you."

Hatori smiled. "It's what sisters do for brothers." She leaned in her forehead and Murtagh repeated the gesture. Hatori left him with Thorn then and Murtagh put his hand to the dragon's warm side.

-I'm acquiring family left and right.-

-Better to gain loved ones than enemies.- Thorn replied. -Now we must fight for my family. For my green brother, and for Shruikan.-

-Yes.- Murtagh looked toward the approaching Yurich and Assan. -Can you carry three?-

-Yes. I'm strong enough now.- Thorn crouched to let Murtagh mount so that the packs could be tied to the saddle. Yurich came up next and Assan last, the shaman looking nervous as Thorn rose and spread his wings.

Yurich snorted. "Ye get used to it."

The To-Ga-Ir lifted their swords and pikes as Thorn let out a roar. They answered him. Then Thorn launched himself into the sky, turning for the Beor Mountains.

-Is flying always like this?!- Assan cried out suddenly, mentally, and Murtagh nearly lost his grip on the saddle horn. He had forgotten he'd established a mental link between them via Thorn.

Thorn hummed. -It's better.- He told Assan. Murtagh added, -It's true freedom. Flying high, through the clouds, never being close enough to the confines of land… it's magic.-

Assan's eyes focused on Murtagh when the smaller man twisted to look at him. -I prefer horses.-

Murtagh burst out laughing and Thorn let for a series of barking roars, sharing in his Rider's mirth.

Katrina had seen many things in her lifetime. She had seen war, participated in it in her own way, and had buried many a good man. She'd been a prisoner of the vicious Ra'zac, the wife of Roran Stronghammer who still fought with the Varden, and the sister-in-law of Eragon Bromsson, Eragon Argetlam, Shur'tugal, the list went on. She twisted the wedding ring on her finger and felt her baby kick. The Varden had gotten confident in their victories since their defeat at Gil'ead, when they'd gone to aid Islanzadi in her efforts. Their minor victories had spurred Nasuada to allow small contingents to break away from the main force and use attrition against the Empire. Because of this, there were less soldiers to defend the non-combatants – mothers, children, and the elderly.

They'd come in the night, moving like ghosts. The soldiers had a specific order when they came, and in the confusion, Katrina and two other expecting mothers were taken. Those other two women didn't meet some expectation by the platoon leader, and were let go, but Katrina hadn't been so lucky.

She sat quietly in the darkness, listening to the soldiers around her. She couldn't say she truly hated them; they'd been nothing but kind to her, making sure she had enough to eat and drink and warm blankets to wrap around her. They traveled at a slow, easy pace so Katrina wouldn't be stressed and slowly Katrina began to realize that the soldiers didn't want her. They wanted her unborn child.

Katrina shivered and pulled her blanket tighter around her shoulders.

"Are you cold?" asked a young Imperial soldier. Her personal guard, Katrina remembered. He was young and innocent and Katrina wondered if his mother was worried about him.

"No." Katrina replied with a smile. "I'm fine."

"You should get some sleep. I'll go get you some tea."

Katrina tried not to sigh. She turned her gaze to the sky and thought about Roran. She wondered if he knew yet, if he knew she'd been taken, and if he did, what he was doing to try to rescue her.

A dark shape passed over the moon.

Katrina blinked. Could it be Saphira? She was the only dragon left in Alagaësia, and she would try to get Katrina back because Katrina was family. But Eragon couldn't risk himself, not even for her.

A twig snapped under a heavy boot and the small contingent of Imperial soldiers were immediately on their feet, weapons ready. Her guard soon surrounded Katrina. From her place in the shadows of the trees, Katrina watched as two men came into the firelight. The one on the left was taller by a head, dressed in clothing Katrina didn't recognize. A sheer veil, revealing only striking gold eyes set in a lightly tanned visage, covered his face. The smaller man wore clothes of a native Alagaësian, though they were subtlety different somehow, as if the clothes were more than what they appeared to be. He wore two swords, one strapped to his side and the other at the small of his back at a slight angle, a dagger at his thigh, and an unstrung bow placed in a quiver full of silver-fletched arrows. Both their hands were held up in a sign of peace, but still the Imperials didn't relax. They were searched and their weapons were taken from them before they were allowed to join the fire.

Whatever the strangers and the soldiers were talking about, Katrina couldn't hear it, and she shivered again. She closed her eyes and fought not to cry. She just wanted to be back safe with Roran.

"My lady," asked her guard, "perhaps you might enjoy being closer to the fire?"

Katrina looked up at the young man and numbly nodded. With his support, she made her way down to the fire and sat carefully across from the strangers. She gazed at each of them from beneath her bangs and studied them. The foreign stranger didn't pay her much heed so Katrina turned her attention to the other stranger. His dark eyes were warm when they looked upon her, his dark hair pulled back into a loose tail that allowed several strands to escape for frame his face – among them, a lock wound with a red leather cord, beads, and a feather. It was his face, or rather, what was on it that caught Katrina's attention the most. Over his left eye was a tattoo of a turning dragon, framing the socket and giving him a mystique that put the woman at ease. He broke their eye contact almost as fast as it had been made, but still Katrina felt calm.

She felt safe.

She focused her gaze on the fire and put her hand on her belly. Katrina had to be strong, for her sake and her baby's.

"That wench?" she heard the platoon leader say. "Haven't the slightest clue why the king wants her, but he does."

"Maybe she's to replace his lost Rider." The stranger with the tattoo spoke in a nonchalant voice.

The soldiers guffawed. "Her? She's too pregnant to go flyin' on anything let alone a dragon!"

"Quite true." The tattooed stranger said with a smile. "Maybe he wants a queen?"

That drew an even bigger round of laughter. "Or maybe," the tattooed stranger continued, "He wants her because she could birth the next Rider?"

There was no laughter now. The soldiers peered at the two strangers with barely concealed suspicion. The leader prodded the tattooed one's soldier. "What did you say your name was?"

"I didn't." came the soft reply. "I advise you to stop doing that."

The soldier prodded harder. "In the name of King Galbatorix, you're under arrest! Stand up!"

The next motion was a blur to Katrina. One minute the soldier was standing, prodding the stranger's shoulder, and the next he was on his knees, screaming, as his hand was bent backwards. The tattooed man wore a grimace instead of a smile. "I warned you."

Before the others could get their wits about them, the strangers were on their feet. Unarmed, Katrina believed they would be no match for the sword-wielding Imperials, but she was wrong. The veiled man back-pedaled out of his companion's path as he caught a sword blade on the back of his hand. Katrina expected that hand to be sheared in two, but whatever the glove was made of sparked as though it were metal and the sword was deflected. The tattooed man flung his defending arm wide to knock the sword away and kicked up hard, catching his attacker in the chin. The soldier's head snapped back and he dropped to the ground, unmoving. The stranger spun away as another soldier came at him.

The veiled man reached their weapons and grabbed up a sheathed sword. "Catch!"

The tattooed man fell back and came up in a spin as he caught the sword, unsheathing the finely crafted silver sword. He blocked a downward chop and came across with a tight fist, dropping his opponent. His dark eyes blazed slightly and he simply canted his head at the platoon leader. "I'll give you a choice." He began. "You can either continue this and end up like them, or you can leave."

The soldier snarled but never had a chance to sound the attack, for the trees around them came to life. The soldiers panicked then, fearing the trees more than the man standing with a naked blade in his hand. Katrina watched the man with surprise in her eyes and watched as he moved to retrieve his weapons. They were alone soon enough, and Katrina struggled to her feet, glaring at her rescuers.

"Who are you?" she snapped.

"A friend." The tattooed man replied, letting out a sharp whistle.

Katrina was about to make a remark when she saw a dark shape moving toward them, and the red dragon moved into the clearing. She nearly fell, and would've if not for the dwarf that caught her and steadied her.

"All right there, lass?" the dwarf asked. Katrina shivered. The red dragon gazed at her with ruby red eyes that seemed so depthless. "Perhaps ye should sit again."

"No." Katrina snapped, moving over to the tattooed man. She grabbed him by his collar and forced him to look at her. "I want answers. You're Murtagh, aren't you?"

"And if I am?"

"You ruined my wedding."

Murtagh's lips quirked. "I was never good at choosing the right opportunity."

Katrina shook her head. "You're supposed to be dead!" she exclaimed. "Eragon will be so happy. Now I have another brother."

Murtagh frowned but he didn't press her. "My story is long and it's best we move while I tell it. I'll need your help."

"More than that," the veiled man said. Murtagh made a noise.

Katrina offered her hand. "I am Katrina, the wife of Roran Stronghammer."

"Assan of the To-Ga-Ir, shaman and life to Murtagh." Assan turned to the dwarf. "He is Yurich."

Yurich snorted. "Perfectly capable of introducing meself."

Murtagh gave a wry smile and looked to Katrina. "We'll exchange stories as we go. We don't have much time, I fear."

"No." Katrina said sadly. "We don't."

Thorn came forward then and crouched, indicating Katrina was to ride. She blinked but accepted, settling into the saddle as the dragon rose. Murtagh put out the campfire and the company began to walk. Katrina began her story after a moment, starting after Murtagh's apparent death. When she finished, Murtagh began his tale, and though he hid the identities of several people, Katrina couldn't fault him. But she began to understand her brother-in-law better than she had before. Murtagh wasn't evil like his father. He was a victim of the circumstances and had done the best with what he had been given. He had endured more than Katrina could imagine and came away stronger for it. Katrina could feel Thorn brushing against her mind with gentle words and she patted the red dragon's neck, marveling at how smooth his gait was.

Katrina agreed to take the companions to the Varden and began to learn a little of the shaman craft from Assan. Murtagh was gentle with her when he began to instruct her with knives at her request. Even Yurich taught her dwarf lore, often making her laugh with his outrageous stories. She felt at ease with these four. She felt important, empowered, for though she was a pregnant woman she possessed high spirit and strength. She was a lioness, Murtagh once said off-handedly as they rested by a river, and Katrina believed it.

She was riding on Thorn's back when the pain began, but she wasn't sure where it was coming from. She felt light-headed, dizzy, and Thorn stopped immediately, sensing her discomfort.

As the first contraction ripped through her body, Katrina screamed.

She was hardly aware of Murtagh pulling her down to the scrub grasses, laying her out on Assan's spare robes. She paid no heed when he told her how indecent he would have to make her, or when he said he had no idea what to do. Katrina just screamed and clutched to Murtagh's left hand.

Her baby was coming.

She hadn't planned it this way, giving birth in the wilds, away from her husband.

But her baby was coming.

Katrina had no choice but to push.

The To-Ga-Ir had three days left to arrive.


	16. Chapter 16

Moranna's Blessing

Murtagh had never panicked so much in his life. Despite Assan's limited knowledge, neither of them had helped deliver a baby. Thorn crouched nearby, looking something nightmarish with his wings extended up and back and his mouth open, breathing, revealing sharp rows of teeth. Katrina was screaming and there was just so much blood. Assan was whispering in To-Ga-Ir, chanting as he helped Katrina birth her child, kneeling between her legs as he watched for the child's head. Yurich spent his time bringing water for Murtagh to heat with a spell and fresh linens. Murtagh wiped Katrina's brow and held tight to her hand.  
"You're doing fine." He whispered to his sister-by-marriage. "Just a bit more."

Katrina yelled loudly. It must've been two hours – it seemed so much longer – before her cries were answered by a baby's wails. Assan took up the child and wiped it of blood and viscera before severing the umbilical cord. The child continued to wail even as Assan handed it to Yurich to wrap as the shaman dealt with the afterbirth. Then it was over.

The dwarf reverently handed the newborn to its mother and said, "It's a daughter."

Katrina panted with a smile as she stroked her daughter's cheek, watching the tiny girl squirm. Murtagh grinned. "She's beautiful."

Assan nodded and moved to wash himself free of blood, leaving Katrina alone with her child and brother-in-law. Murtagh helped Katrina rise so the bloodied clothes could be buried and held his niece as Katrina washed herself. Thorn rose then and moved to his Rider, peering down at the infant in the man's arms.

-She is so tiny.- Thorn said as he gently touched his snout to the baby's forehead. When he pulled back, there was a glimmer so soft Murtagh almost didn't notice it. -She will be protected.-

"Did he bless her?" Katrina asked, looking at the Red Rider with a gentle gaze.

Murtagh nodded. "She will be protected." He repeated. Katrina moved to take her daughter from her uncle and smiled at Thorn.

"Thank you, Thorn." Katrina whispered.

-You're welcome, Katrina-sister.- Murtagh repeated Thorn's words and Katrina smiled. They rested for most of the day for Katrina's sake, and close to nightfall, they crossed into the Hadarac Desert. Murtagh acquired horses – by what means Katrina didn't ask – for the three pinto ponies seemed well at ease with Thorn so close. With her daughter in a sling close to her chest, Katrina rode in the shade of Thorn's outstretched wings during the day. Murtagh, Assan, and Yurich walked easily beside her, the riderless ponies carrying their packs. Soon, Katrina noticed Assan was leading their party toward the rising shadows of the Beor Mountains.

"Where are we going?" Katrina asked Murtagh. The Scion glanced up at her.

"We're going to meet the To-Ga-Ir." He said softly. "They will ally themselves with the Varden."

"They're your adopted family?" Katrina frowned at Murtagh's nod.

"I'll introduce the two of you. Have you decided a name yet?"

Katrina paused. "I wanted to wait for Roran, but I'm going to name her Moranna."

"Moranna?" Murtagh questioned. "An odd name for a little girl."

"She's named so for her uncle, for without him, she would've been born a slave."

Murtagh stared at Katrina for a long while. She laughed when his cheeks flushed slightly and he pointedly didn't look at her for a little while. By moonrise they had arrived at a predetermined place, an oasis that looked undisturbed by any human, elf, or Urgal. Here they waited for the To-Ga-Ir and Murtagh and Assan often went ahead to scout, leaving Yurich and Thorn to protect Katrina and Moranna. Murtagh had begun to read out of his book to the little girl when the night filled with horns. He rose immediately and Thorn let out an answering roar.

Katrina stood in awe of the To-Ga-Ir, a great cavalry of at least ten score if not more, the warriors both male and female. Behind the warriors came the other women and children and old, many staring at the Hadarac's wide desert in awe. The warrior in the lead approached Murtagh and Assan and when he dismounted, he grabbed Murtagh in a tight hug. Katrina couldn't understand what was being said, but she had a feeling that proud man was Murtagh's adopted father. When the Rider was released, he accepted a hug from a young woman, and clasped arms with another warrior.

When Murtagh beckoned, Katrina moved forward. The chieftain's eyes lit up upon seeing Moranna and the young woman beside him grinned widely. "She is your niece, Sharru-Kinu?" the girl asked. "She is a jewel."

Katrina reddened. Murtagh smiled. "This is my adopted sister, Hatori, and my adopted father, Kaucha. This is my sister-in-law, wife of my cousin Roran, and her daughter Moranna."

Hatori inclined her head to Katrina. "You are blessed."

"Yes." Katrina whispered. "I am."

"Come!" Hatori called suddenly, acting the translator for her father as Assan turned to speak to Murtagh. "Let us rest here, for tomorrow, we march to our allies!"

A cheer went up form the tribes, and soon the oasis was alive with activity. Hatori turned to Katrina and smiled. "With your permission, cousin, I would like to help you care for your daughter."

Katrina blinked and looked at Murtagh. He caught her gaze and excused himself for a moment, moving toward the two women. He smiled wanly when Katrina told him of Hatori's request. "What do you think?" she asked finally.

"To-Ga-Ir girls learn from female family members how to care for children." Murtagh said at length. "Since you're the only female member of our family to have an infant, it would fall to you to teach Hatori."

"In return," Hatori spoke quickly, "I'll instruct you on my culture." She clasped her hands together. "Please?"

Murtagh gave Katrina a look that gave her no clue on how to proceed. Hatori didn't seem to be older than sixteen! Finally, Katrina sighed. "Very well."

"Behave Hatori." Murtagh told his sister. Hatori nodded and led Katrina toward a group of To-Ga-Ir girls, all of which cooed over baby Moranna.

The sun rose and set and still the To-Ga-Ir stayed around the oasis. When the full moon rose, Murtagh came to fetch Katrina. With Moranna in her arms, she followed Murtagh to the shamans, and spotted Assan among them.

"What's going on?" Katrina asked Murtagh in a whisper.

"Kaucha wants to bless his grand-niece. I told him Thorn already has, but he wishes to give her something more." He looked at her with a gentle gaze. "You can say no."

Thinking of all she had learned, of her cousin Hatori, Katrina shook her head. "If you are To-Ga-Ir, it's only proper your goddaughter be To-Ga-Ir as well."

Murtagh was speechless. He gave her a wan smile and nodded. He led her into the circle of shamans and left her there. Katrina faced Assan, and it was he who approached her. A chant began, and Assan brushed scented water over Katrina's face, then Moranna's, though the girl began to fuss.

"The moonlight is a guide and saviour to all of us." Assan stated. "Within the light, only truth is shown. Moranna, Katrina's daughter, you have been blessed by a dragon. Now let us bless you, in all the names of the light."

"Tuâtha neu hana aliele." Murtagh whispered from behind Katrina. "Lahran neu ashran ne kehran atann."

Let her grow as fierce and as proud as her mother. Thorn added. She will be a symbol of hope.

Katrina closed her eyes and tried not to cry in joy, kissing her daughter's forehead. She couldn't have asked for a better family.

The To-Ga-Ir set out early the day after Moranna's blessing, a long train that kept the non-combatants in the center of the warriors. Katrina walked with Hatori, learning more about Murtagh's adopted side of the family. The To-Ga-Ir women could only fight if they had sons, which was why the number of women warriors was disproportionate to the men. When Katrina asked why the women were allowed to fight at all, Hatori replied with, "Because we are more dangerous. Have you ever seen a mother wolf fight to protect her cubs? She will die defending them."

Katrina looked at the warrior women and somehow knew they were proud to fight beside their husbands and sons. Murtagh had been teaching her, but only to defend herself. Hatori revealed he had begun doing the same for her. Murtagh hadn't been the kind of man she had expected him to be. He was gentle, not only with Katrina but everyone he came into contact with. He was silent and strong, a shadow and guardian. A Scion, she remembered, an unsung hero of the land. Katrina was quick to make friends among the To-Ga-Ir women who had yet to give birth and traded stories with them. Some were warriors and proudly pointed out their sons while others were only about to have their first child in a strange new land. These people were extraordinary to her and they welcomed any new face with open arms provided they passed Thorn's inspection.

Thorn was gentle like his Rider, careful about where he put his feet as he walked. His huge wings provided shade for the young and old, and he was almost always humming in some song. Katrina thought he could dwarf Saphira with how big he was, but she knew the magnificent red dragon had stopped growing. He was almost twenty-five feet at his full height, and his wingspan was a massive one hundred and eighty-two feet wide. The children had measured him as a game, Murtagh had said, looking upon his dragon with love. Thorn was Murtagh's eyes and ears in the sky, always looking for Saphira or Eragon or the Varden and elves. It had almost been a month since Katrina's rescue, so she didn't know where the Varden could have gone, only that they hadn't crossed back into Empire territory.

They were coming close to Du Weldenvarden in their search, and even Katrina could see the distant trees of the elven vale growing larger. Kaucha called for a halt then, and everyone obeyed. Katrina watched Kaucha and Murtagh begin a discussion, and prayed the Varden hadn't been wiped out. When Murtagh was alone, Katrina approached him, gently laying a hand on his arm.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

Murtagh glanced at her. "The forest doesn't sing. No one is in there, but we can't go in to confirm it. The spells prevent that."

"So where are they?" Katrina asked, worried.

"That's what I'm trying to figure out. The land is quiet, almost too quiet, but the grasses and trees whisper. They must've fallen back to the Beor, but I'm not sure." Murtagh replied. "I'd have to fly there and see for myself."

"But you don't want to leave us." Katrina reasoned. His tight-lipped expression confirmed her thoughts. "If you must, you must. I know these lands as well as you do."

"Do you remember where you held your wedding?"

"I remember. The Jiet River, but it's further south."

"I want you to take them there. Wait there until I come back." Murtagh held up his hand to quiet her argument. "Right now, you're the trump card. Galbatorix thinks the To-Ga-Ir are extinct, and we can't afford to let him believe anything else. If the Varden aren't in Tronjheim, I'll fly back as quick as I can. Please Katrina. They need you now."

Katrina heaved a sigh. "Very well. But I won't tolerate any fighting between you, Eragon and Roran."

"I promise, no fighting." Murtagh said with a smile.

"Good." Katrina gave Murtagh an irritated, sisterly peck on the cheek and moved to join Hatori who replayed the Scion's message.

"So yer goin' to Tronjheim." Yurich said gruffly from behind him. "Ye'll be needin' a dwarf."

Murtagh looked to the diminutive man and smiled. "You'll have to fly again."

Yurich did well to hide his grimace. "I'm gettin' used to it."

Murtagh's eyes flicked to Assan then, the shaman having moved over with Thorn. "And what of Assan?"

"I will stay with my people." Assan replied. "Someone has to be here to whip your ass if Katrina can't do it." He shrugged.

"Keep an eye on her." Murtagh said as he moved to mount Thorn, settling in the black and silver saddle. He pulled Yurich up after him and nodded at Assan. The shaman nodded back and stepped away from Thorn as the dragon prepared to launch.  
They were airborne soon enough, circling the To-Ga-Ir once before they turned for the Beor Mountains and the Dwarven vale. The To-Ga-Ir were soon a dark blotch in the distance and Murtagh put his trust in his sister-by-marriage as he turned his mind to his task. Through Thorn's sharp eyes, Murtagh was able to scan the vast horizon, looking for signs of life. Here and there he could see signs of fighting, but no sign of his quarry. The birds, what few there were, couldn't tell him much other than a great host had passed through. Which host, though, was a mystery for the birds' memories weren't great and they couldn't remember that far back.

Thorn alighted on a hidden mountain trail Yurich pointed out and the two riders dismounted. Murtagh turned to look at his best friend and patted his shoulder. "Stay here."

-Very well.- Thorn sighed. -But do be careful.-

Yurich, translating Thorn's worried gaze correctly, snorted. "Don' ye be worryin', dragon. I'll keep yer Rider safe."

Thorn chuckled. -Which is what I'm worried about.-

Murtagh chose not to translate and headed up the trail with Yurich close behind. The stones and scrub bushes were silent, possessing no voice that Murtagh or Yurich could hear. Yurich soon took the lead as they drew ever closer to a secret tunnel, which would take them to the heart of the Dwarven capital. They passed no life and sensed no life. The city was empty, just like the elven forest. Murtagh frowned at the state the city had been left in. It was as if the people expected to return. If that was so, where had they gone? Murtagh followed Yurich, two spells on the tip of his tongue and a hand curled loosely around the hilt of his Elvish knife. Though he was used to fighting in tunnels, they had been made for creatures the size of men, not dwarves. A sword wouldn't aid him here. Yurich was muttering lowly, then finally stopped and shook his head.

"No one is here." He told his friend. "Doesn't seem they have been, not for a while."

"There's no sign of struggling." Murtagh noted. "Which means they left willingly."

"The forges are empty as well." Yurich stated. "Even mine own family's. What d'ye think that means?"

"It means the dwarves, like the elves, have joined the war in full." Murtagh turned and moved back the way they had come. Yurich quickly grabbed something from a forge and followed the human. "It means the Varden and their allies could be anywhere from here to the Spine and we must find them!"

"Then we should head for the Jiet!" Yurich yelled as they broke into a run. "Catch up with those elf-kin and yer sister-in-law. They're lookin' fer her, no doubt, so we'll find 'em!"

-Thorn! We're coming! Get ready to fly!-

The red dragon's surprise coloured his words. -A running mount?-

-We're in a hurry.-

-Very well!- Thorn sounded amused.

Murtagh and Yurich broke out into the sun and Murtagh lunged up the boulders on the left side of the path. Huffing and puffing, Yurich followed, though he had a sinking feeling in his gut. Murtagh reached the last boulder, a monstrosity of at least twenty feet high, and grabbed hold of Yurich's collar as the Rider simply jumped. The pair hit Thorn's back with a jarring thud and Murtagh dropped easily into the saddle as the dragon picked up his pace, long legs taking him straight to the edge of a cliff for a jumping take-off. Yurich had enough time to cinch himself to the saddle and grab hold of Murtagh's waist before Thorn launched himself into the air.

Then they were flying with all haste for the To-Ga-Ir.


	17. Chapter 17

Saphira's Fear

The Varden, with the whole of the dwarves, elves, and Urgals, camped not far from where the To-Ga-Ir were now heading, sheltered in the crux of a mountain range and the borders of Surda. If the To-Ga-Ir turned a bit more south, there would be no doubt the two forces would meet. However, the To-Ga-Ir didn't know this, and they were reluctant to send outriders into the unknown lands without direction from their adopted prince. The Varden, too, were reluctant to spare anyone save for raids on supply wagons, for their horrible defeat at Gil'ead was still fresh in their minds. If it hadn't been for the efforts of Saphira and Eragon, and the Du Vrangr Gata, the Varden would be half of what they were.

Unfortunately, the abduction of several women, including Roran Stronghammer's wife Katrina, weighed heavily on the minds of all. Especially Eragon's, for he had convinced Nasuada to spare a small group for raids and had left the non-combatants unguarded.

Saphira could feel the depression of Eragon as acutely as if it were her own. After Thorn's death, it seemed as though the young Rider had been treated to nothing but misfortune. Saphira, too, felt as though a cloud of bad luck hung over her, for she had been the one to press the issue that had been making Eragon hesitate in killing or sparing his half-brother. The blue dragon lifted her head from her paws as Arya approached her, probably coming to tell her Eragon wasn't going to come today or tomorrow, either. Saphira wished she could give her Rider a good scolding, but he had blocked her from his mind, no doubt moping about the recent string of defeats and failures.

But instead of speaking, Arya simply sat beside the great blue dragon and propped her chin in one hand. "Seems a beautiful morning, doesn't it?"

In truth it was slightly cloudy and Saphira could taste the coming of rain. But she recognized Arya's sarcasm and closed her eyes halfway. -He's ignored you, as well?-

"He sits and consults with Glaedr, Nasuada, Orrin, Orik, and Islanzadi day after day!" Arya exclaimed in a single breath. "He doesn't stop to think about what he does have, nor does he take enjoyment in it. Vanir's expressed a desire to beat some sense into Eragon."

Saphira considered letting the spitfire elf have his wish with her blessing. -And he hasn't asked Arya for her advice?- She asked instead.

"It seems as though Arya doesn't exist for him any longer." The elven princess confided sadly. Saphira gazed at the elf maiden knowingly, as Arya had done all she could to curb Eragon's romantic interests in her. Still, the two had become so close that it felt strange when Arya didn't see Eragon on an hourly basis. Saphira could empathize, for she too felt as Arya did.

-He will remember when it truly matters.- Saphira said hopefully. She nudged Arya lightly with her snout. -He does love you.-

Arya didn't reply this time, only curling a bit closer to Saphira's powerful shoulder. Saphira turned her eyes from Arya to the camp of the Varden. All were weary, even the tireless elves. Saphira was afraid of what the morrow would bring, for she knew the idea of failure was in the hearts of everyone in this camp. She couldn't comfort all, but her presence kept them from truly abandoning the cause. Saphira closed her eyes and breathed softly. The Varden were powerful when they worked together, but so far, they'd only begun to fragment. If they suffered any more defeats, there would be no hope left.

-Saphira.-

Saphira opened her eyes at Eragon's call. -Yes?-

-Nasuada would like us to fly reconnaissance.-

Saphira heaved a sigh but kept it from her words. -I come.-

She shifted, and knew that Arya had heard by the way she flinched when Saphira rose to her feet. The sleek dragon pitied the elf-maid, but left her all the same, padding toward Eragon's tent. She waited patiently as she was fitted with a new saddle – the third in the one year this war had been going on – and crouched so Eragon could mount. She spotted little Elva watching from the shadows and she saw Vanir standing beside a scarred elf who kept a restraining arm around the younger male's shoulders.

She studied the scarred elf, for he was the one who now carried Naegling, a high honour. A scar cut across his face on the diagonal, from the left brow to the right side of his chin, which gave his grey eyes a fierce tone. Eragon settled in the saddle and nodded.

"Go, Saphira."

The young dragon spread her wings and trotted out of the camp so her take-off wouldn't disturb anyone, and launched into the sky. They flew in utter silence and Saphira wondered what had happened to her beloved Rider. The mental wall was still between them, so she couldn't ask even if she desperately wanted to.

-Saphira?-

-Yes, Eragon?- The mental wall crumbled and Eragon slumped in his saddle.

-Am I doing the right thing?-

-What do you mean?-

-All this fighting! Wouldn't it be so much easier to give in to Galbatorix? The more I think of what Murtagh told me, the more it makes sense! But…- Eragon trailed off as if expecting a tirade. Saphira kept her counsel, though, knowing Eragon needed her to listen. -But I no longer know what I must do.-

-No one ever does.- Saphira said finally. -But we can't give up hope. Hope is what keeps us going, makes us strong. We can't let all of the sacrifices of the past be in vain.-

-I feel as though I'm lost.-

-So do all who live to see such times.- Saphira said comfortingly. -But we're alive now, and it's our turn. We must fight for all those who have yet to walk this earth.-

Eragon fell silent again, but this time he didn't block Saphira from his mind. She flew higher and rested on warm thermals, ever gazing down at the vast land of Alagaësia. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, for Galbatorix hadn't sent an army after the wounded Varden for some time. Not even the foul king's immortal warriors had made an appearance. Saphira twitched her wings and rose higher, above the clouds, and played with the wispy moisture while Eragon fell into some introspection.

As Saphira dipped back under the cloud cover, she finally spotted movement coming from the north. She could see a small contingent of warriors, maybe fifteen strong, being hounded by a larger force of two dozen. She knew immediately the larger force were the Immortals, for they felt foul to her even at this distance. Eragon sat upright then, peering through her eyes not at the pursuers, but at the pursued.

-It's Roran!- Eragon exclaimed.

The volatile man had gone on raid after raid, searching for his lost wife Katrina, and always came back without her. Now, he was bringing back more than just supplies!

At Eragon's urging, and despite her own instincts, Saphira bent her wings and dove, inhaling as she went. She banked hard and let forth an explosive ray of flame, cutting off the pursuit. She shot back up and roared as loud as she could muster, working to dodge a volley of arrows. She rose higher and shot down, legs and wings pulled tight to the bulk of her body, cutting right through the Immortals with flame as her main weapon. Hundreds of arrows bounced harmlessly off her hide, but a moment after she pulled up form her attack, she felt dizzy.

It took Saphira a long moment to recognize the dizziness didn't belong to her. It took her another long moment to realize the pursuit had been a feint, and that the Immortals had had another goal entirely.

With a cry, Saphira raced back for the Varden camp, calling to Arya. The elf-maid answered, equally in a panic, for another sizeable force had been reported gathering at the Jiet River. Saphira's worry overrode Arya's and the woman instantly fell into her warrior façade, using the mounting confusion to her advantage as Saphira landed. Eragon was slumped in his saddle, an arrow piercing his shoulder. The wound was superficial, but Saphira knew it wasn't the arrow that was causing the damage.

Blödhgarm and the other elf mages were soon by Arya's side, taking Eragon down and away before any could see him. The confusion, coupled with the dizziness she felt and the heart-pain, made Saphira let out a tremendous roar that froze everyone to their places. To her surprise, and most likely to everyone else's, it was Vanir who began shouting orders and soon there was no more confusion. Saphira followed the elves to the healers' tent and there she waited.

And waited.

It was Elva who gave her comfort, the small child trapped in an unfamiliar body simply sitting beside her and waiting. The elf that bore Naegling too soon came to offer his comfort, but Saphira ignored them, trying to hear her beloved Eragon. Arya emerged from the tent and looked as though she'd seen a ghost before she turned to face Saphira.

"He will live," she said, "but he's in such a deep state of sleep none of our healers can bring him out of it."

-Poison?-

"Very likely. But Galbatorix wouldn't risk killing him for fear you would kill yourself." Arya said softly. "I'll stay with him. Saïle," Arya was addressing Naegling's bearer now, "please stay with Saphira."

"As you request, princess." Saïle replied in a deceptively low tenor. His grey eyes flicked to Saphira and he reached out a hand to touch her. Saphira accepted the touch and closed her eyes.

-Eragon…-

Elva shoved a linen-wrapped hunk of bread into her pack and tied it closed before swinging it up onto her small back. Only one year old, Elva looked like she was seven or eight, and spoke as though she were in her twenties. Her body felt awkward to her, and she blamed Eragon for that and the other curses he'd laid upon her. But what she was planning to do wasn't for Eragon. What she was doing was for Saphira, for Elva thought herself the dragon's lady-in-waiting. Almost.

She snuck past a sleeping Angela – her self-appointed trainer – and out into the quiet camp.

Elva heard voices, and picked out Roran's. The man was upset because he hadn't been around to protect his wife and unborn child, and now he believed he'd almost killed his cousin. Nasuada had forbidden anyone leaving the camp, but Elva knew, somehow, she was the only one who could help Eragon now. She'd almost made it out of the camp's perimeter when the sentry stepped out of the shadows and simply stared at her. Elva would've thrown her knife had not she known the sentry.

"Saïle." Elva breathed. The elf stared down at her and simply tilted his head. Of all the elves she knew, Elva liked Saïle the best. He was quiet and gentle which hid the fierce warrior beneath his deceptively young face. His grey eyes saw all and revealed nothing, hidden behind black bangs that did little to hide the scar on his face. He differed from most of the elves that had long, luxurious hair, because he kept his short. He was called a porcupine, sometimes, for the way his hair spiked out on his head. "You followed me?"

"As formidable as you are, Elva, you're still small." Saïle replied. "Allow me to be your defense."

Elva eyed the elf curiously. Even if she said no, he'd follow her. "Saphira." She said at last.

Saïle canted his head and Elva had her answer. "Very well." Elva said with a huff. "I guess you can come along."

Saïle's expression didn't change, but his eyes softened, and he fell into step beside Elva as she walked into the night. Saïle carefully guided her for his eyes were far better in the dark than hers were, and Elva soon became thankful the elf was with her. By sunrise they'd made good progress, coming out of the hills and into the flat lands, able to see the Jiet River in the far distance. They could see white smoke as well, coming from a further distance, and moved a little faster to avoid it.

Elva didn't know where she was going, only that she had to get there. It was all to help Saphira, she reminded herself. All for Saphira.

Their second day out they spent hiding for Varden riders were looking for them now, and Elva knew if she failed in her self-given task, Eragon might never wake up. Even Saphira might fall into that deep sleep and never wake! The thought made Elva shudder. She knew herblore from Angela, and knew of several plants that could help. Angela had probably tried them all already, but Elva couldn't give up hope. Whatever poison was hurting Eragon and Saphira had to have a cure. Elva just had to find it.

Saïle was constantly beside her, a silent sentinel when she slept and a careful guardian when they encountered dangerous animals. They were days away from the Varden now, and only a flight on a dragon's back could bring them home in time. Elva didn't dwell on that.

They moved into rolling fields filled with wildflowers and Elva let out a whoop when she spotted one flower that could possibly counteract the poison. She broke into a sprint and fell to her knees, carefully beginning to extract the flower. Saïle knelt beside her, watching for a moment, before he turned his gaze to the sky and surrounding land. Elva went on harvesting the flowers and gasped as she was suddenly pushed onto her belly. She turned to snap at Saïle and when she spotted what he was watching, her mouth went dry.

Walking easily behind two tall young men was a massive red dragon, easily a head over Saphira. One of the men was dressed strangely, and he too was collecting flowers while the other stood as a guard. The dragon's head tilted from side to side, talking with the men Elva figured, though she couldn't hear the humans' replies. The dragon stretched his wings and folded them against his sides, opening his mouth for a wide yawn.

"Can't be," Elva whispered. "It's… Thorn."

Saïle hushed her, but the dragon's head turned toward them anyway. His ruby eyes focused on Elva most of all and he never let her eyes leave his. There was an alien brush against her mind, and Elva recoiled physically. The dragon looked amused and when the brunette man turned to them as well, Elva knew she was staring at Murtagh.

She was staring at a ghost.


	18. Chapter 18

Elva's Gamble

How long they stood staring at each other, Elva didn't know. Murtagh didn't move save to place his right hand on the hilt of the sword that rested at the small of his back. Saïle, too, didn't move except to make the same gesture. Finally, Murtagh took a step forward, his hand never leaving the sword's hilt. He met Saïle in the center of the space between them and Elva thought for sure she was going to witness a spectacular battle. But Murtagh only clasped Saïle's forearm the moment the elf made the same gesture, and Elva knew she'd missed something.

Slowly she approached and stared at Murtagh's companion curiously before she looked up at Murtagh. She'd never seen the man up close before, but she knew the moment their eyes locked that the man she stared at wasn't the man Eragon told stories of. This man looked the same, sounded the same, but wasn't the Murtagh she believed to know. She gave the Rider an impudent curtsy and got a smirk.

"You're dead." Saïle spoke suddenly. "There are many who saw you fall."

"Rumours of my demise are greatly exaggerated." Murtagh replied. "I was close to death, yes, and would've died, had I not been found."

Saïle's eyes flicked to the taller human beside Murtagh and nodded approvingly. Somehow, Elva knew it wasn't the tanned-skin stranger Murtagh was talking about, but she decided she would learn the truth later. The tall human bent to whisper in Murtagh's ear, and the Rider frowned slightly. "You two come alone." Murtagh said softly. "Why?"

Now Elva squirmed for the strange man was staring at her. "Something's happened. Saïle and Elva are the only ones who can help." She said, glaring in defiance at the stranger.

"Elva?" Murtagh said with a smile. "What a young lady you've grown to be. Assan," Murtagh addressed the stranger, "she's under a curse my brother put upon her."

Assan – the stranger – nodded. "I see."

Murtagh looked back at Elva then. "What's happened?"

Elva told him the story. "And if he doesn't wake, the Varden are doomed." She paused, eyeing Murtagh and Murtagh's strange facial tattoo especially. "Maybe not so doomed."

"And so you thought you'd hunt down a cure, not knowing what actually ailed Eragon?" Murtagh asked. Elva almost snapped at him, but she realized he was speaking the truth. She hung her head in shame and kept her tongue still. Murtagh knelt down and put a hand on her shoulder. "You did well, Elva, but learn from this. You'll be a great healer one day."

Elva's bright violet eyes glared at the Rider. "How do you know?" she snapped.

"Because I'll be around to see it." Murtagh said as he rose. He turned to Assan. "We'll go back and get our things. Then we'll go to the Varden."

"Is that wise?" Assan asked.

Elva watched in surprise as Murtagh shrugged. He turned to Thorn and held a silent conversation. Thorn looked at Elva, then Saïle, and nodded. "He'll carry the four of us." Murtagh Elva and Saïle.

Saïle looked impressed. "He's strong enough?"

-If I can carry a dwarf,- Thorn snapped, -I can carry a scrawny elf.-

Elva was aware of Murtagh laughing. She looked up at Thorn and offered her hand. "He can speak to anyone?" she asked, as Thorn touched his snout to her fingers. "Like Saphira?"

Thorn snorted. -Dragons can speak to anyone they so choose to speak to. Only their Riders are silent to outsiders. I simply choose to speak with only those I deem worthy.-

"Worthy of what?" Elva asked, suddenly aware only Murtagh and Assan were privy to Thorn's words.

Thorn's eyes closed halfway. -Worthy of being Touched.-

The way Murtagh jerked slightly told Elva the word had a different connotation to him and Thorn than it did for her or Assan, but Elva swelled with pride and hugged Thorn's nose. Her arms barely covered the top portion of his snout. She pulled back soon enough, aware Murtagh was studying her intently, but he turned his gaze away and moved to mount Thorn, pulling Elva up before him. Assan took a position behind Murtagh and Saïle reverently settled behind Assan, holding tight to one ivory white spike. Then Thorn launched into the air and soared for the camp based at the Jiet.

-Those are the To-Ga-Ir.- Murtagh told Elva, linked with her through Thorn. -Elf-kin from the deserts beyond the Beor. My adopted family. Katrina and my niece are there too.-

-She's alive?! They're both alive!- Elva grinned. -Roran will be so happy to see them!-

-Let's hope he lives that long.- Murtagh replied, sobering the girl's mood. Thorn banked to land in a wide clearing where horses were roaming and crouched to allow his riders off. The To-Ga-Ir were nothing like Elva had ever seen. They worked in concert despite the noise of voices and conversation. Women sewed clothing, men hammered out weapons and shields and armour, and even the children helped where they could.

They were happy, Elva realized, despite the time they lived in. Elva numbly followed Murtagh, unconsciously on his right side, staring at everyone. They stared back only for a moment, then smiled and gave a greeting. They didn't see her as some abomination; they saw her as a young girl. Elva blushed and averted her gaze, wondering if one day she could play with the children who looked her physical age.

Murtagh brought them to a huge but plain tent and allowed Elva and Saïle in before he followed. Within the tent already was a proud but old man, several young men, and a young woman who struck Elva as a beautiful warrior goddess. Murtagh was speaking in broken To-Ga-Ir, but he managed to introduce Elva and Saïle before the foreign words failed him.

Then he turned to the guests. "This is my father by choice, Kaucha, and my sister by choice, Hatori." Murtagh gestured at each. Elva managed a curtsy and Saïle inclined his head. Murtagh turned to Assan and nodded, and the shaman began translating for the Rider. Elva listened to Murtagh's voice and wondered how Eragon could hate this man who tried everything he could to make sure the world was right.

Hatori glanced at Elva, then approached her father, nodding slightly. "We aren't ready to ride to the aid of the Varden. In two days, we'll be ready, but you fear there won't be time."

Murtagh frowned but nodded. "I need to see him for myself." He glanced at Elva and Saïle then back to the chieftain and the princess. "A healer can't heal if he doesn't know what afflicts his patient."

"He says he has great respect for you, Sharru-Kinu." Hatori spoke for her father. "You may go with his blessing, and watch for our coming."

Murtagh bowed and his three shadows followed him. Assan took Saïle, who'd shown interest in the shaman arts, to retrieve Murtagh's belongings while Elva followed the Rider back to Thorn. Elva reached to pet Thorn as she watched Murtagh, for the man was standing silently as he faced away from the camp with his eyes closed.

"What are you doing?" Elva asked.

"Speaking with the wind." Murtagh replied. "There's a thunderstorm coming. We'll be ahead of it, but only by a moment." Murtagh opened his eyes to look at Elva. She stared back, feeling strange under the Rider's gaze. "What?"

"Your brother blessed me." Elva blurted. "Why won't you?"

"Because I have no blessing to give you." Murtagh said. "Nothing I can do can change what's befallen you already. I could only make it worse."

Elva frowned and looked away from the Rider of the red dragon she petted continuously. She didn't understand the tumult of emotions in her soul. She wished Saïle and Assan would hurry up so she wouldn't be alone with Murtagh for he still watched her. Finally, he frowned and looked to Thorn. Elva felt the dragon twitch under her hands as he and his Rider held a private conversation. Finally, Murtagh moved to place a hand on Elva's shoulder.

"There is something I can do for you, but we must be flying as we do this." Murtagh fell silent for a moment, his eyes focusing on some far off point. Then he focused on Elva once more. "I've told Assan to bring horses. They'll meet us a mile from the Varden camp."

Before Elva could ask what Murtagh was planning, she found herself lifted into Thorn's black and silver saddle, settled before the Scion. She held on tight to the saddle horn as Thorn launched himself into the air and circled the camp of the To-Ga-Ir until two pinto ponies cantered out of the makeshift corral, Assan and Saïle pressing their mounts into a lazy gallop as Thorn rose higher. Thorn was moving slowly, rising higher and higher up into the clouds. The sun was setting, the moon rising, and when Elva looked above her she saw thousands of smile stars. She focused on a particular constellation, for it seemed to glow brighter as Thorn flew closer.

-That's the Handmaiden.- Murtagh told her. -She guides the souls of the lost to where they belong. Her name was Gilraen.-

"Gilraen," Elva uttered aloud. She clutched tighter to the saddle horn and looked up at the constellation. "The Handmaiden."

"Elva," Murtagh began, speaking aloud. "Hear me and listen well. I'm Estel az Ahir-Enei, the last Scion of the old teachings to walk this land. I'm the sword and shield. I am the son to one who had none, the student of myth. Elva, hear me and choose."

His voice, already thrown by the wind, seemed further away than it should've been. Choose? Elva thought. He hadn't given her a choice! Eragon hadn't given her a choice! How could she choose when there was nothing? Elva stared past Thorn's head at the constellation of the Handmaiden. Her hands curled tighter around the saddle horn.

-Elva,- Thorn spoke now, hear me and listen well. -I'm Maeglin, son of myth and legend, beloved brother of Estel, my life and Rider. I am the sentinel and the voice. Elva, hear my voice and choose.-

Elva closed her eyes. She wanted to be normal! She wanted to be as she was supposed to be! But she couldn't, not anymore, and she had taken that anger out on everyone around her. Choose, they told her. She opened her eyes and saw the bright stars of the Handmaiden. She'd chosen to be the shepherd of the lost, she had chosen to be a healer and guide. Elva's small body shuddered.

"I want to…" Elva began softly. "Gilraen!" she shouted with all the strength she could muster. "I am Gilraen!"

Pain exploded in her head and then all she knew was darkness.

-What you did was very dangerous.- Thorn scolded Murtagh once more, watching the human build up a smokeless fire to act as a beacon to Assan and Saïle who had yet to catch up. -What if she'd chosen incorrectly?-

"She wouldn't have chosen incorrectly." Murtagh replied, looking up into Thorn's piercing ruby gaze. "She simply became what she was meant to be."

Thorn blinked and looked at the young woman who slept beneath a cloak wrought of clouds and the sparkle of stars. Truthfully, neither Thorn nor Murtagh had actually expected such a reaction, but Elva – Gilraen – had always managed to keep that unnatural air, even in the short time they'd known her. Now Elva had a body to match her mind, a young woman of seventeen years, clothed in a black, night-velvet dress and a cloak made of clouds and stardust. Her hair fanned against her back, now a dark, almost black-blue, hidden now beneath her cloak.

Thorn heaved a sigh. -We aren't gods, little one.-

"No." Murtagh replied lowly. "I know. Nor are we puppet-masters to pluck the strings and watch others dance. But her pain, Thorn, I could feel her pain and I tried to alleviate it."

-And without my help, it would've failed.- Thorn acquiesced, knowing the guilt that weighted down Murtagh's shoulders. -We can't right everyone's wrongs.-

"And she may hate me when she wakes." Murtagh shook his head. "I tried."

-Forgive me.- Thorn replied. -You did what you thought was best and I agreed, faltered, and aided though I didn't believe.-

"We're not gods, Thorn." Murtagh said with a smile. "We're fallible."

Thorn hummed and settled to rest beside his Rider, a careful gaze kept on the distance for danger. It wasn't long before hooves thundered closer, and two pinto ponies slowed to walk as their riders dismounted. Saïle's grey gaze swept about the camp and he set a hand on the sword at his side. His eyes burned into Murtagh in a glare.

"Where is Elva?" the elf snarled in a whisper, his sword half drawn in threat. Murtagh gestured to the sleeping woman.

"She's there, though she isn't as you remember." Murtagh stated.

Saïle stalked to Elva but knew better than to wake her. His eyes flicked to Murtagh. "What did you do?"

Assan answered, "Sharru-Kinu, you play with magicks you don't understand."

Murtagh gave a soft groan that surprised Saïle. "I was already scolded for this. Not you, too."

"I'll scold you again, Murtagh." Assan groused, the shaman's eyes amused despite the harshness of his voice. "This is the only time, I hope?"

Saïle frowned. "She's unharmed." He said in hopes to quell the shaman's ire.

Murtagh nodded. "Only and last time. She chose it, Assan, and when she wakes, it'll be her turn to scold me if she thinks this is a curse as well."

Saïle moved back to Assan, Murtagh, and Thorn. The elf settled beside the fire, watching the young man across from him. Murtagh had surprised the elf from the day they'd met on the battlefield. Saïle had learned of Murtagh's betrayal from gossip among his people, and he'd witnessed the fall of Oromis and mighty Glaedr. Murtagh was supposed to be evil and foul just like his master, but the boy – for then he had been a boy – had surprised Saïle at their meeting with the selflessness in giving up a desired prize like Naegling.

"Saïle?" Murtagh questioned softly. The elf blinked.

"Forgive me." Saïle spoke softly. "I've much to learn from you, young one."

Murtagh smiled slightly. "And I've much to learn from you. We can't go further in life if we refuse to learn from each other and accept those differences."

Assan chuckled and sat on Murtagh's left. As Elva slept, the men spoke, trading stories as if they were old friends that had been separated for far too long.


	19. Chapter 19

Thorn's Foray

It was decided that Thorn would remain out of sight of the Varden camp and that Murtagh would go in under the guise of a To-Ga-Ir shaman. Thorn certainly didn't enjoy being left behind but he understood that the Varden weren't prepared for the shock of seeing him or Murtagh. Elva and her new body would already confuse them; they didn't need an added shock of seeing a dead Rider and dragon land in their camp. It would take a little longer for Murtagh to reach the Varden since Thorn couldn't get close without being spotted, but it was all for the sake of Eragon. Sometimes, Thorn mused, deception was needed to earn trust.

The red dragon could always drop in on the Varden if Murtagh felt threatened, of course. And Thorn was always looking for a flicker of distress, an excuse to swoop down and show the Varden they were making a terrible mistake. But he felt none, and so Thorn flew high into the sky, seeking out prey. He didn't like to be without Murtagh, and he wanted to be beside him for this. But it wasn't practical. Practical. Thorn snorted, a short jet of flame escaping in his irritation. He hated that word. He pumped his wings and rose higher, grumbling to himself. He wondered what was happening, but he knew they hadn't yet reached the perimeter. Thorn debated on flying over his Rider, high where he couldn't be seen. He shook his head to dispel the thought. Murtagh trusted him to stay away and Thorn wouldn't betray that trust.

Unless his life was in danger, of course.

Thorn rested on thermals for hours, watching birds lazily fly beneath him. The squawky things gave him no news, and spoke more about nesting and mating than anything else. Thorn ignored the birds and looked to the earth below him for a sign of deer or something equally tasty. He spotted a buck as he passed over a small copse and turned to stalk the animal. He soared lower, lower still, remembering the hunting he'd done in the thick woods of the Spine. He folded his wings slightly and became a red bullet hurtling out of the sky. He folded his wings tight then and picked up speed. At the last second, before the deer even knew he was there, Thorn shot his wings out and hit the deer with all his bulk, bouncing the animal as he landed atop it.

-Hello?-

Thorn lifted his head and looked around him. -Hello?- He repeated. He was certain he'd heard something, but he wasn't sure what it had been. Shaking himself, Thorn settled for his lunch. He had barely taken a bite before he heard it again and he glowered for a moment before he rose and padded from the copse, looking for the strange sound. He raised his head and lifted his wings, snuffling the air for any strange scent. His ruby eyes focused ahead of him and he knew what was about to come. He had wandered too close to the Varden camp. The warriors wouldn't have spotted him, but another would've sensed him.

Thorn lunged, whipping his spiked tail up in Saphira's face to deter her attack and remained planted on the ground while she hovered in the air.

-I don't want to fight you!- Thorn shouted at her. Saphira snarled in reply.

-You are dead!- Saphira lunged at Thorn again. She was smaller by a few feet but Thorn had never been idle in his own training. Despite his bulk, Thorn was nimble and agile, avoiding Saphira's attack and launching into the air. He didn't go too high, coming back down to the earth a moment later to avoid a gout of flame. He didn't want to hurt her, but it seemed he wouldn't have a choice.

She collided with his back and they tumbled in a tangle of limbs and snapping teeth. Thorn managed to hook his front talons around her sides and rolled, kicking off into the air. Saphira snarled and quickly moved to chase him.

-Coward!- Saphira yelled. -Coward! Living on without your Rider! Slave to the egg-breaker! Murderer!-

-Shut up!- Thorn spun in the air and collided with the smaller Saphira again, the two fighting in midair. Thorn fought down his anger and kicked at Saphira's belly, driving her off and away, and he turned for the copse of trees. He dove into the trunks, knowing she would follow.

Thorn landed hard and sent his thoughts to the trees, asking them to wake and aid him. He felt their reluctance to assist him against another dragon, but when Saphira's rage touched the trees, they came alive around her, branches cracking against her body and wrapping around her, driving her down. She reached the small clearing where Thorn stood before Saphira's momentum finally stopped. Saphira roared and snarled, but the threes wouldn't let her go, and she eventually tired herself out.

-Coward.- She snarled at Thorn. -Murderer.-

-Shut up!- Thorn roared at her, glaring hard into her sapphire eyes. Saphira stared at him incredulously. -Shut up. Stop being a selfish, naïve little-!- Thorn stopped himself and fought to calm down. -Just be quiet.-

Saphira, seeing silence as a wise option, settled against her leafy shackles and glared at Thorn. She was honestly surprised to see him. She hadn't expected to see another dragon of a crimson colour at all, and the moment she'd spotted him, she'd recognized him immediately. Thorn settled in a crouch and rumbled softly, as if he were muttering. Finally, his crimson head canted and the trees released Saphira.

-How did you do that?- Saphira asked of the red, her eyes gazing at the trees.

-I asked them to help me.- Thorn replied. -They answered.-

-How do you live?-

-What?-

-Without him.- Saphira asked, slightly angry. -How can you live without him?-

Thorn snorted. -Murtagh isn't dead.-

-He isn't?- Now she sounded surprised, even mollified. -How?-

-We survived.- Saphira didn't receive any more information. Thorn took his attention off Saphira and went back to his cold lunch. He ate it, though he didn't feel too hungry. He finally looked back at the older female and raised his head. -We were needed.-

-How do I know you're not lying?- Saphira snapped. -How do I know you're still not a slave?-

-How do you know I'm not?- Thorn countered. -You don't understand anything, Saphira. What you see is your truth, and anything that goes against that is wrong. I haven't forgotten the Burning Plains.-

Saphira's blue eyes narrowed. -If you'd died then, Glaedr would still be alive!-

Thorn gave a series of short roars as if he were laughing. -Would he? You underestimate Galbatorix.-

-And you underestimate us.-

-Elva came to us.-

That statement rocked Saphira. -Elva found you?-

Thorn nodded. -I will tell you everything so that you'll understand. I never wished for any of this. The circumstances weren't of my doing, and the situations we've lived were for our own growth.-

Saphira listened to Thorn speak. He spoke of his birth, of his sheer joy at the sight of Murtagh. They fought to protect each other and the grief they'd brought they'd never intended. She listened and she thought. Finally, Thorn fell silent, and Saphira knew he'd left something out. She didn't press, for Thorn trusted her with what he'd told her already. In time, he might tell her the rest, but not now. Saphira twitched her tail and watched the younger dragon carefully.

-I suppose,- she began, -I could be more open-minded.-

-Or look at all the angles.- Thorn replied dryly. -Forgive me for saying so, but your Rider is a prick.-

Saphira jerked, a little startled by Thorn's word for Eragon. The red shook his head and sighed softly. -True, he's learned the makings of a hero, but he's blinded by that duty. When he asked for our lives, when he showed all of that stubbornness at our final battle, he was far too arrogant. He was -the- Rider, he believed. All looked up to him. And Elva told me of the second curse.-

Saphira looked away and felt ashamed. -He was young.-

-Youth is no excuse for foolhardy arrogance.- Thorn said in a soothing tone.

Saphira looked back at Thorn and wondered about the great red dragon. His crimson eyes watched her without judgment, and he angled his head to better look at her. -Where is Murtagh now?-

-He's riding to his brother.- Thorn answered. -He will heal him.-

Saphira looked startled. -The Varden will kill him if he gets close to Eragon!-

-He isn't without his own tricks.- Thorn said. -But I am worried.-

-We could go.-

-Not until he calls.- Thorn replied adamantly. Saphira blinked and realized Thorn's reluctance to get close to the Varden had more to do with protecting Murtagh than fear.

-Why?- Saphira asked.

-Because healing your Eragon stems upon his identity being a secret.- Thorn said. -There are spies among the Varden, and were they to report to Galbatorix we still live, he would try to regain control of us. Were Murtagh in the middle of healing Eragon, Galbatorix could potentially kill them both.- Thorn hated that he had to lie to Saphira, for Murtagh wouldn't be truly hurt because of the Scionmark. But Saphira accepted his words and nodded.

-What should we do then?- She asked of the red dragon.

Thorn eyed her curiously. -I've learned things you hardly know of. Perhaps I could teach you.-

Saphira's eyes sparkled with interest. -Teach me what?-

-Depends.- Thorn replied after a gauging look. -Are you going to say your way is better?-

-Why would I say that?- Saphira sounded incredulous.

Thorn fought to keep from rolling his eyes. -Because you're a stubborn, snarly female. You always think your way is better.-

-I do not!- Saphira snarled. Thorn snarled in reply. Saphira considered for a moment. -Maybe I do. I will keep an open mind.-

Thorn watched her for a moment longer, then nodded and spread his wings as if to take flight. -We'll start simple. Often, the base lesson is the building block for the rest.- He added to quell her coming tirade. -Do you trust me?-

Despite knowing better, despite knowing what she did about the dragon across from her, Saphira couldn't honestly say she did trust Thorn. But for the sake of her Rider, Saphira uttered, -Yes.-

Thorn canted his head and looked about to say something. He thought better of it, though, and nodded. -We'll start easy. You know how to read the wind, yes?- He didn't wait for her to answer. He continued the lessons, carefully instructing Saphira in the same way Bid'Daum had taught him, working his front paws as if they were hands, gesturing and showing.

Saphira watched, enraptured by Thorn and how careful he was. He could easily rip her wing when he extended it, easily snap her neck if he nudged it just a bit harder, but he was very careful. And Saphira sensed it wasn't because she was the last female dragon, but because Thorn himself was gentle. She could see light scars on his wings where his teacher – Shruikan, Saphira assumed – hadn't been so careful. Something other than pity welled in Saphira's heart then, something she had felt when, mistakenly, she had met Glaedr. It wasn't quite love, but she felt she could be open and vulnerable with her mighty nest-brother, and that he wouldn't harm her. They ended the day's lessons with Saphira trying to communicate with the trees around her. She gasped audibly when one sleepy maple answered her voice and Thorn's deep rumble soothed the maple to sleep once more. The blue dragon looked at Thorn with a gaze of wonder and he stared back with a mild look.

-Can Murtagh do this?- Saphira asked.

-Do what?-

-Talk to the trees.-

-Of course he can. Murtagh is a master at it.- Thorn replied proudly. -He will teach Eragon, if Eragon wishes to learn it.-

Saphira, for the first time, felt saddened. -He's doomed to leave Alagaësia.-

Thorn frowned and buzzed concern. -Says who?-

-The prophecy.- Saphira glared at Thorn when he began to laugh. -It isn't funny!-

-Saphira, prophecies can't control your life. The prophecy,- Thorn spat the word derisively, -can't dictate what you should do. If you don't want to fulfill it, you won't fulfill it. They're guesses, not accuracies.-

-How can you be so sure?-

-Murtagh and I were fated to die. Galbatorix gave us this prophecy. We believed it for a time, but he only spoke thus so we would obey him.- Thorn paused, searching for the right words. -Prophecies will come true, or they won't come true. They may manifest now, tomorrow, or a thousand years from now. They have no power if you don't believe in them.-

-Eragon's been cursed with this fate several times.-

-Saphira, do you believe it?-

That made Saphira pause. Thorn continued, -He wouldn't bear to be separated from you. If you don't wish to leave here, he will not, and any who love him will remain as well. Besides, you don't even know it will be Eragon who leaves.-

-His dream,- Saphira started, then stopped. She cocked her head at the larger male and thought for a moment, then tried again. -I don't wish to leave Alagaësia.-

-Then make sure that is your truth.- Thorn said, approval in his voice. -Your truth is all you'll need to defeat these… prophecies.-

Saphira nodded and watched Thorn as the red dragon spread his wings again. Thorn closed his eyes and listened. Murtagh briefly answered, but his concentration was focused on several wounded soldiers. He hadn't seen Eragon yet. Thorn told him of his encounter, and though Murtagh disapproved, he didn't scold Thorn. Finally, Thorn opened his eyes to focus on Saphira. -They've missed you. Arya is preparing to ride to find you. They can't learn of us, Saphira!-

-Eragon is lost if they do.- Saphira said, understanding. -Very well. I'll keep your secret and Murtagh's, but I'll come back tomorrow for a new lesson.-

-I wouldn't ask for anything more.- Thorn bowed his head to her and Saphira replied in kind before she made to fly.

Soaring in the air back to the Varden camp, Saphira mulled over all she had learned. Her struggle – their struggle – wasn't over, and she was beginning to think it would never be. But with Thorn and Murtagh's appearance, with their knowledge and their secrets, Saphira felt the Varden and their allies could reach victory. Her role in the play Murtagh had begun was simple and she was confident she could do her part flawlessly. She spotted a doe and fawn on her flight back to the Varden and debated on taking one with her to add to her lie about hunting. Saphira shook her head and changed her course, flying past the animals. She could not, would not, take a babe from its mother or a mother from its child. The Varden camp loomed before her and she sought out Arya's mind. The elf was relieved to know she was back, but Saphira could still sense the distrust the maiden held for the two strangers that had come with Saïle and Elva. Saphira landed gracefully and looked to Arya as she approached, ready to give a full accounting of her day should the princess ask for it. Arya never did, though, instead informing Saphira of the strangers and the one's wish that he might look at Eragon.

"They call him Sharru-Kinu," Arya told Saphira as she and Eragon's elven mage guard escorted her to where Sharru-Kinu – Murtagh – waited. "He has proven himself an able healer, but of his motives he will not say. None of our wizards can penetrate his mind."

Saphira bit her tongue against informing Arya of the Scionmark Murtagh wore on his face. She merely nodded.

-I will meet with him.- She told Arya. To herself, she added, -And I won't be denied as you have.- That thought pained her, but she had already promised Thorn she would play a part in their conspiracy. For Eragon.

Always for Eragon.


	20. Chapter 20

Promises, Always Promises

Saphira's expectations were sorely an insult to Murtagh. When she settled her eyes on him, she'd been expecting a human being who'd been scarred, who carried his hate and loathing as a shield, and who gazed out upon the world with contempt. What she saw was a young man with slightly elf-like features, clean shaven (though Saphira had come to understand Murtagh never had to worry about facial hair. For some reason, Thorn found it amusing.), and with gentle dark eyes that withheld judgment and radiated calm. He was dressed in clothing that matched the tall man's that stood behind him, but Saphira knew those robes were purely for show. He exuded perfect control, and Saphira realized that even weaponless, he was dangerous.  
She made a show of establishing a connection, but it was Murtagh who opened their link. Saphira only projected, for now Nasuada was in attendance, with Orrin and Orik beside her. Of Islanzadi and Nar'Gharhvog there was no sign. Murtagh rose and bowed to her, giving her the time to collect her wits. "Mighty Saphira," Murtagh began with a slight – and faked – accent to his voice, "the stories don't do your beauty justice."

-Cad,- Saphira replied privately. To all she said, -Sharru-Kinu, welcome to the Varden. News has reached me you wish to heal my Rider.-

"Then the news is correct." He didn't elaborate and rose to look her in the eye. We have much to discuss, you and I. "I come from lands past the Beor, following a calling. Though I've been detained, I wasn't idle."

-How can I trust you?- Saphira saw the three rulers in attendance stiffen. Now they were getting to the heart of the matter. -How can I trust you won't slit his throat?-

Murtagh hid his flinch, but he knew the question had to be asked. "Because with Eragon Shadeslayer dead, my people have no hope." Because without you, Saphira, Alagaësia has no hope.

Saphira felt Nasuada's unease, along with Arya's for they felt as though they were missing something of the conversation. Her eyes never left Murtagh's face as she considered him. -You truly believe you can heal him?-

"I know I can." Murtagh replied. "I just need to see what afflicts him."

"And what do you think you can do that our healers and Angela couldn't?" Orrin interrupted. Murtagh's eyes slid to the Surdan king. "How do we know you didn't poison him in the first place?"

Saphira felt Murtagh's irritation, but he kept it leashed as he turned to face the upstart king. "If I was an agent of Galbatorix, why would I risk my own life in saving the king's enemy?"

"To gain our trust."

"At the cost of our lives?" Murtagh asked bluntly. "I know Galbatorix needs her alive. To kill Eragon would be to kill Saphira. With Eragon in this forced sleep, Galbatorix doesn't have to fear Saphira for she won't fight him alone. He won't be expecting Eragon to wake, because then there's a chance they might die."

"You know much for a stranger out of the deserts." Nasuada said quietly. "Are you not a spy?"

"I listen." Murtagh replied. "There are a many great things that can be heard by simply by listening."

Nasuada glared hard at Murtagh, but Saphira snorted to stall her argument. -I will allow Sharru-Kinu to look at Eragon.-

"How can you trust him?" Orrin asked.

-Because he speaks in truth.- Saphira replied. -I trust him.-

Murtagh bowed to Saphira. -Thank you.-

-Don't thank me yet.- Saphira told Murtagh privately. -Heal him first.-

Under a guard of elves, Saïle among them, Murtagh and Assan – Saphira liked him very much – to the tent where Eragon had lain for the past several weeks in a catatonic state. Murtagh went inside alone despite protests and it was Assan who stood before the tent's entrance like a sentinel. Saphira, too, was anxious, wondering if she'd made a huge mistake. Hours passed and a crowd gathered, and Saphira felt worry gnawing at her heart. Finally, Murtagh appeared again, and spoke softly to Assan. The To-Ga-Ir shaman turned to Saïle and repeated Murtagh's message.

-What's wrong?- Saphira asked Murtagh as Saïle jogged off to fulfill the orders he'd been given.

"He's deeper than I thought he would be." Murtagh replied. "I need a few supplies and then isolation. If this is to work properly, I can't be disturbed."

-You're positive you can heal him?-

"He's not injured." Murtagh replied. "He's trapped within his own mind. It's old and forbidden magic, but hardly deadly."

"You know this, just by looking at him?" Arya asked upon approaching, Saïle behind her looking a little helpless as Arya too carried things Murtagh needed.

"I know because I've seen it before." -Saphira,- Murtagh turned to the female dragon, -in two days a great host of horsemen will arrive. They are my tribe, the To-Ga-Ir. Among them is Katrina and her daughter, and another friend, a dwarf named Yurich. I'm counting on you to help the Varden with the To-Ga-Ir.-

-I will help.- Saphira replied. -Assan will assist?-

The shaman looked up at Saphira. "I will do what I can."

Saphira nodded and watched Murtagh take the things from Arya and Saïle. She couldn't recognize half of what the Scion held but she hoped it would aid him in curing Eragon. Murtagh disappeared into the tent and secured the flap for privacy. Now more than ever did Saphira have to trust in Murtagh. But she simply couldn't stay in the camp and wait. Unfortunately, Saphira had to remain, for the Varden looked to her for comfort that Eragon Shadeslayer would make it through. Saphira settled before the tent and watched Assan settle as well.

-How well do you know Murtagh?- Saphira asked the shaman privately.

Assan smiled. "Quite well. He's my life, as I am his."

Saphira blinked, not understanding. Assan shook his head and smiled. "He sacrificed much for my people. The nights we had alone out on the deserts drew us closer together than many would like."

-You mean you and he are…?-

"Very close." Assan finished for her. "Before you worry, we To-Ga-Ir are elf-kin. Once, long ago, we too were part of the elves that came across the sea. But like all things do, we chose a different path. We choose immortality, unlike our brethren who are forced to bear it. He and I am close together in age – it's not unthinkable for me to choose immortality when the time comes."

-So you'll live as long as he does?- Saphira closed her eyes and dwelled on the possibility. -But you too are connected with Thorn.-

"Only on a mental level." Assan whispered as a guard passed by. "While he is aiding your Rider, Thorn will communicate with me."

Saphira nodded and eyed the shaman with a healthy respect. Night descended thicker around the Varden and Saphira allowed herself to sleep.

Dawn came far too quickly for the liking of some, and Roran was no exception. He paced the ground before his tent and wished he could scream. He wanted to go back out into the wilds, search for his wife. By now, Katrina would've had their child – if she was even still alive. Roran kicked himself for the thought. Perhaps he could convince Nasuada to let him take Saphira and fly across the Varden-held territory. Of course, he would have to ask Saphira first and she was ever reluctant to leave Eragon now that he was incapacitated. That thought brought Roran's anger down some. In his haste, he'd led the Immortals right to the Varden. He'd been the one that caused Eragon's current situation. How could he ask Saphira to abandon her Rider to help him look for Katrina?

Roran gathered up his hammer and decided he'd visit Saphira, make sure she was getting along all right without Eragon. She wasn't at Eragon's tent when he arrived, but three others were. He recognized Elva only because of the shimmering star on her brow, but he didn't recognize the elf or the tan-skinned man calmly dealing out a deck of cards. Elva, in the motion to pick up her hand, noticed him first.

"Roran!" Elva gasped out. She sounded nervous, and Roran began to wonder why. "Why don't you come play?"

"Where's Saphira?" Roran asked in a cold tone.

"She's hunting," the elf replied softly, "and she'll be back soon."

Roran frowned at the elf. "I want to see Eragon."

"You can't." This time it was the tan-skinned man, his dark eyes focused on Roran. "He's not to be disturbed."

Roran felt anger flood him again. "How can he not be disturbed? He's ill!"

"He's being healed." The stranger replied with utter calm. "He, and his healer, are not to be disturbed."

"Why wasn't I told?" Roran hissed. To his surprise it was Elva, a tall, beautiful, seventeen-year-old Elva, who rose to block his way.

"Not many were told." Elva spat. "Only Nasuada, the kings Orrin and Orik and Islanzadi were told. His healing must be kept secret. Would you risk his life, Roran?"

"If you look for a fight," the stranger said, "look elsewhere. There are more important things to do than give in to your anger."  
Roran snarled and stalked away. Elva looked to Assan. "He'll go to find Saphira."

Assan closed his eyes. "I know."

Indeed Roran had gone to find Saphira. She would be the only one to listen to him, the only one to understand. He'd made it only half a mile out of camp before he spotted her, standing so still and watching him. Before he could open his mouth, Saphira let out a soft snarl.

-I know what pains you.- Saphira said. -Your anger is at yourself for not being able to protect your wife and cousin, at Nasuada for not allowing you to do as you want, and at the strangers who tend your cousin, my Eragon, when you cannot.-

"You should be angry too," Roran spat. "Here we are, doing nothing, while Galbatorix could be plotting our very demise! He could have my wife and child!"

-And he may not be, and he could not.- Saphira slowly approached, her head high but angled to gaze at him. -This anger you have, let it go. It won't do anyone any good.-

Roran shook his head and glared at Saphira. "And why aren't you with Eragon? Why are you out here?"

Saphira looked hurt. -I want to be with Eragon, but now isn't the time. He is in good hands.-

"He could be dying!"

-Roran Stronghammer!- Saphira roared. -Do not presume to know what I can easily feel! Your anger rules you, and until you leash it, you will be leashed here. One more day brings us closer to victory.-

Roran snarled. "Or to ruin." He turned his back on Saphira and stalked back into the camp. Out of sight, Saphira turned and looked toward Thorn as he landed, aware the crimson dragon was staring intently at Roran.

-He must be watched.- Thorn said softly.

Unfortunately, Saphira agreed with him. However, she couldn't blame the young hero, for he'd gone through so much in only a short year. First his uncle, then his home and beloved, and now all of this. More weight was on Roran's shoulders simply because of his actions and his relationship to Eragon. -What can I do?- Saphira asked her larger companion.

Thorn gave a short shrug of his shoulders. -Beyond sitting on him, nothing. His is a tough course, and only he can make it through. You can only watch and aid where you may.-

-I wish I could tell him Katrina arrives tomorrow.- Saphira felt Thorn settle against her and lay his head across the back of her neck in the Rider's hollow. It would be easy for her to turn and bite his neck, to give him a killing wound, but Saphira didn't move. -I wish I could do more than sit and wait.-

-I know. I wish I could do many things as well.- Thorn replied soothingly. -I wish I could fly to Urû'baen and set the entire place on fire. I wish that alone would destroy that foul egg-breaker and free Shruikan and the little one. But it won't. So I trust in Murtagh, for he'll find the way.-

-He is confident.- Saphira sighed.- Would that I had that confidence.-

-You only need to look in your heart.- Thorn said upon lifting his head. -Look there, and you will find courage and hope.-

Saphira looked into Thorn's crimson eyes and saw there determination, hope, and another emotion she couldn't recognize. She finally had to look away but felt Thorn staring at her as though waiting for something. Finally, Thorn stepped away from her and spread his wings, taking to the air with a running leap, disappearing into the blue. Saphira could only wonder then what she had missed. Not knowing what else to do and not having much energy to do much else, Saphira plodded back to the Varden camp. She found Assan where she'd left him outside Eragon's tent and saw traces of Saïle and Elva, though the two were missing. Assan sat perfectly still, legs crossed beneath him and his hands on his knees, eyes closed. Saphira settled to watch the To-Ga-Ir's meditation.

"You worry." Assan spoke quietly. "And you fear."

Saphira settled her head on the ground beside Assan and sighed. -I worry for Roran. I worry for Eragon and Murtagh and Thorn. I'm afraid of what the future will bring. What can I do?-

"Do what you've already been told to do." Assan's dark eyes flickered open. "Hope isn't gone. It lives in the very soil of this land. So long as we live, we'll find a way."

-You're very confident.-

"I believe. Only a few weeks ago I was so certain my people were going to face extinction." Assan said as he relaxed his pose and stretched out beside Saphira. "Then out of nowhere comes a boy no older than I claiming he can solve our problem. And he does! He faced the leader of the As'ratlegûl alone and destroyed him." Assan shook his head with a smile. "Now, I'm certain my people will live to see the day an entire flight of dragons will soar the skies and that my tribe's descendants will be able to live in their old lands. I believe we'll win this war and we'll get through the aftermath with our heads held high."

Saphira watched Assan with a new respect. The shaman didn't know if the Varden and its allies would achieve victory, he didn't know if he'd even survive that long, and yet still he hoped. Saphira had let worry and fear push her hopes away and realized then what Thorn had been trying to tell her. She had to hold hope in her own heart, for as long as she believed, others would believe as well. As soon as the To-Ga-Ir arrived to bolster the forces gathered here, and as soon as Eragon was healed and Murtagh could reveal his true identity, the Varden could – and would, Saphira vowed – march.

Saphira lifted her head as she felt stirring on Eragon's side of their link. Daring to hope, Saphira called, -Eragon?-

She didn't get a reply and truly hadn't expected one. But she sent the message again. -Eragon! You're in safe hands! I promise you!- She still met silence, but she knew Murtagh was succeeding in his promise. She felt joy welling in her and finally got to her feet again. She would hunt, she decided, and find Thorn to tell him of her decision. Saphira eyed the tent where Eragon and Murtagh were and raised her head high. -I won't fail you, Eragon.-

Saphira turned to leave Assan to his meditation once more but paused, listening to the breeze. Strange scents were carried to her nose, scents that were familiar and yet foreign at the same time. She recognized one scent as the smell of horses and turned her head to watch the direction of the Jiet River. A horn sounded, long and low, followed by another. Assan was instantly on his feet, and Saphira quickly followed the shaman as the soldiers began to muster. Nasuada, dressed in her armour, met the pair on what would be the battle lines, her face set in a scowl.

"He attacks," she said, "when he knows we're defenseless."

The horn sounded again, followed by its twin. Assan shook his head. "Lady, those horns don't belong to your enemy."

Nasuada stared at Assan with suspicion. "Then whom do they belong to?"

Assan grinned. "Those horns belong to the To-Ga-Ir."


	21. Chapter 21

Dreamscape

Eragon floated weightless, trapped in a dream so pleasant he didn't want to leave it. Indeed, he didn't even know he was dreaming, so vivid and real it was. In his dream, he stood on the ramparts of Ilirea, retaken and renamed during the war, beside Saphira. The city was alive with celebration, clean and pure and Eragon watched as everything became right. He turned then to seek out Arya, hoping this time the elf princess would agree to be his mate. Instead, he came face to face with Murtagh. Suddenly, the dream shifted, the two now standing alone on a desolate mountain. Eragon felt for Brisingr, but Murtagh simply raised a hand and the younger man felt his limbs freeze.

"How far did you come, Eragon?" Murtagh asked. "Did you follow the dream because you wanted to or because you had no choice?"

"What dream?" Eragon snarled. "Where's Saphira? What have you done with her?!"

Murtagh's dark gaze flickered. "Nothing has been done to her. You need to wake up."

"Wake up?"

Murtagh nodded. "This is a dreamscape, created by Galbatorix to keep you out of the fight. With you incapacitated, Saphira will have to choose. She'll choose you, and Galbatorix will have his victory."

"You're a liar." Eragon snarled. "You were a liar in life and now you're a liar in death."

Murtagh stalked forward so suddenly Eragon didn't even register the movement. The elder Rider grabbed Eragon's face and forced the young man to look at him. "Open your eyes!" Murtagh snarled. "You're so self-righteous that you're blind to everything! From the beginning all I wanted to do was help you! Whatever you believe is right is all that matters, regardless of how it'll affect others! When you asked for our lives, there was no hesitation! Did I mean so little to you, brother, that I wouldn't warrant that much?"

"You went to him! You betrayed us!" Eragon shouted, anger giving him the strength to defeat Murtagh's hold and spell, breaking away from the elder Rider. "You're no brother of mine! You're the son of Morzan! I'm the son of Brom!"

Murtagh visibly flinched. Eragon blinked. Hadn't Murtagh known? Even in death, he should've known! The older Rider rubbed his face, his image flickering. He changed from Eragon's memory then, Murtagh becoming slightly darker of skin and slightly Elvish in his features, with a strange tattoo on his face. Even Eragon could feel the power in that mark and the younger Rider shrank back a bit.

"Now it makes sense." Murtagh whispered. He glanced at Eragon and sighed. "Now Norezha's message makes sense to me."

Eragon blinked and slowly approached Murtagh. "Who's Norezha?"

"A teacher of mine," Murtagh replied absently. "A woman who cared for me when I lived with–" He paused. "Someone."

"Who?" Eragon pressed.

"I'm not telling you." Murtagh spat. "In time, you'll know, but now you're not worthy enough to know."

"I am–!" Eragon choked, for Murtagh's hand closed around his throat.

"You're a foolish little boy playing a dangerous game. The losses you've suffered this far are sweet caresses to what you'll endure. Open your eyes, Eragon! Your selfishness, foolishness, and self-righteousness must be defeated. Learn some humility. Learn your way isn't always the best way." Murtagh released Eragon then. "Saphira chose well. It's a shame you, as you are now, are a disappointment."

"And you?" Eragon snarled. "Were you never a part of this, Thorn would be free! He wouldn't be an abomination!"

"He isn't an abomination." Murtagh growled, growing irritated. "He's as much a dragon as Saphira."

Eragon glared at Murtagh and shifted, lunging for the elder Rider. Murtagh dodged and tripped Eragon, eyes narrowed at the younger man. Finally, Murtagh reached to grab Eragon, hauling him to his feet. "Let me show you."

Eragon made to protest but the scenery shifted so quickly the younger Rider was disoriented. They were within Urû'baen, and Eragon could see Murtagh – the Murtagh he knew before the man's apparent death – lying bloody and broken on the floor. The other Murtagh standing beside him began to speak.

"When you began your training with Oromis, mine had already begun. Every day I was tortured, as was Thorn, because we refused to give him what he wanted." Eragon stood watching Murtagh's memories, growing steadily sicker the longer he watched. "Even on the inside," Murtagh continued, "I was working with the Varden. I was doing all I could to ensure the victory of you and yours. When you tried to kill me, I could forgive you for it. But this, as you are now, I cannot forgive."

Eragon pulled away from Murtagh when the scenery returned to their mountain and retched, more out of disgust at what his half-brother had endured than his own attitude. Finally, Eragon wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked at Murtagh. "Now you wish me to change."

"I wish you to learn." Murtagh corrected. "We've very little time and I have much to explain to you, to show you. However, it all depends on you."

Eragon blinked. "On me?"

"On your willingness to change your beliefs. If you're willing to listen and learn."

Eragon stared into the elder man's eyes and looked for a lie. He looked for a trap but couldn't find anything he was looking for. "How can I trust you?"

"" Murtagh spoke fluently in the ancient language. ""

Eragon swallowed. He understood all of it, and the name Murtagh gave himself shook him a little bit. He was aware he could try to use that name against Murtagh, but it would do him no good. Finally, Eragon nodded. "I will listen."

He thought Murtagh smirked. "Good. Heed my voice well, Eragon."

Murtagh began to speak. Eragon found himself mesmerized. Around him, the dreamscape changed to accompany Murtagh's voice. Images flashed by so quickly Eragon wasn't sure he could even remember them. The words though, stuck in his mind, and Eragon felt self-hatred consuming him. When he'd become mostly elf, he'd taken on their haughtiness, their hubris, and their pride. He'd forgotten how to be himself. He stared at Murtagh with new understanding and when the older Rider finished speaking, Eragon whispered, "I'm sorry."

Murtagh shook his head. "You learn from this, Eragon. Learn and you'll become stronger."

"Like you?"

"Probably not." Murtagh answered with a sigh. "I can teach you what I know, but only one can give you the rank of Scion."

Eragon grinned. "Who?"

Murtagh didn't reply, simply staring at Eragon until that confident grin was wiped from the young man's face and the Rider had sobered. "I can't tell you that."

Eragon forced away the frown and stepped a bit closer to Murtagh. "What can you tell me?"

"Ask me a question. If I answer, you'll know." Murtagh sounded slightly amused now. "But now we've got to get out of here. Saphira's waiting for you, and I have people waiting for me."

Eragon blinked, but he moved after Murtagh, asking a question and either getting silence or an answer. The landscape around them shifted and changed, the dreamscape trying to keep Eragon within it. But Eragon focused on Murtagh's back and ignored what was happening around him. Murtagh had fallen completely silent, so Eragon studied him. He was much different than he'd been just a short year before. He carried himself almost humbly, his eyes seeing everything but revealing nothing, and he had a way about him that Eragon knew would win over those who'd be his enemies. Finally, Murtagh stopped just before the ground gave way to utter darkness.

Eragon doubled over, trying to catch his breath. "Aren't we leaving?"

Murtagh glanced at him, then away. "We will. Go ahead and don't stop. You'll begin to feel a weight, but that's only your body. Just keep going and you'll break it out."

"Break what out?"

"The thing keeping you here. This spell requires a physical connection to the victim." Murtagh looked to Eragon and shoved the younger man forward. "Just go!"

Eragon turned to stare at Murtagh but the older man just extended a finger and pointed. Glowering, Eragon turned to obey and moved into the shadow. His senses betrayed him, for his eyes saw nothing and yet his feet felt a path, and soon he began to feel the described weight. He also felt a ghostly touch from Saphira and pushed on. Eragon took step after heavy step, working hard to get out of the spell. He heard voices and recognized Murtagh's. He tore at the veil around him and felt immense pain in his side. An agonizing moment later, Eragon jerked awake and stared into Murtagh's dark eyes. The Scion held onto a silver of an arrowhead, and Eragon noticed a second later he was bleeding. Murtagh simply passed his hand over the wound and the bleeding ceased.

Eragon blinked at his half-brother. "How'd you do that?"

Murtagh rose and moved to wrap the shard in a length of linen. "Do what?"

"Cast a spell without speaking."

"It's a skill I've learned." Murtagh tossed Eragon his clothes. "Get dressed. It's time for you to make a grand appearance."

Before Eragon could press further, Murtagh slipped out of the tent. He could hear Murtagh talking to someone, another male, in a language Eragon didn't understand. He shook himself and dressed, ready to move out into the world.

Murtagh quickly followed Assan toward the To-Ga-Ir camp more to get away from Eragon than for any real desire to see the tribe. His mind was whirling. Eragon wasn't his full brother? They were half-brothers? Bitter hurt welled in Murtagh's heart. He was the only one to carry Morzan's name then, the only one to bear that awful stigma. Murtagh touched the pendant Eluna at his throat and shook his head. He couldn't let that bother him now. He had a family – he'd never considered Eragon his brother, anyway. He was a fellow Dragon Rider, nothing more.

"Sharru-Kinu!" Hatori shouted, waving from where she stood beside Yurich. "Sharru-Kinu, you wouldn't believe how rude these leaders are."

Murtagh touched his forehead to Hatori's and sighed. "Actually, I would. Prepare for a massive amount of soldiers to come this way."

"Why?"

"Eragon's awake, and he'll soon tell Nasuada and the others who I really am."

Hatori snorted. Yurich took a drag on his pipe and echoed Hatori's sound. "Let 'em come. Yer too important ta too many people now for them ta hurt."

Assan touched Murtagh's elbow. "Katrina wishes to see you. She asked to see you the moment you were finished."

"Go, brother." Hatori said. "Yurich and I will stall them should they come."

Murtagh nodded and followed Assan to Katrina. The woman stood with the other women, little Moranna in a sling against her chest. Katrina's eyes lit up when she saw Murtagh, but he could see the worry in the orbs. Assan inclined his head. "I'll go find Saïle and Elva. You'll need all your allies."

Murtagh nodded and moved to Katrina. "I thought you'd have run to see Roran."

"I tried." Katrina said. "The soldiers don't believe me. And they won't tell Roran that I'm asking for him."

"He's still in the camp." Murtagh said. "Don't worry. The time is coming where all these games will end. I want you to stay back with the women."

Katrina glowered. "You don't think I can help you?"

"You're my trump card." Murtagh answered honestly. "They'll trust your judgment, especially when Roran comes with Eragon."

"Why must you speak sense?" Katrina asked.

"Because it irritates you." Murtagh looked up as the To-Ga-Ir began a call of warning. "Trust me."

"Call Thorn." Katrina told him as she moved back to the women.

Murtagh shook his head and discarded his robes as he moved to find Assan. -Thorn?-

-Murtagh! Saphira's told me what's happening. Shall I come?-

-Yes. But pick your moment wisely.-

-Very well.- Thorn withdrew from Murtagh's immediate consciousness and the human turned his attention to this newest challenge. Dressed in his Fel clothing that doubled as armour, Murtagh strapped his Elvish blade to his thigh, his Fel blade to his hip, and Celeb'sûl to its place in the small of his back. He felt prepared physically, but he wondered if he was prepared mentally. No sense in backing down now. Murtagh shook his head and went to find Kaucha.

The To-Ga-Ir chieftain stood on the very edge of their side of the camp, dressed in his full war regalia. Surrounding him were his warriors and the shamans, Assan among them, though he moved to Murtagh's side as the Rider came to stand beside Kaucha. Elva, Saïle, and Yurich also pushed their way through to his side and stood ready to defend the Rider should things go awry. The Urgals led the procession of warriors, the line spreading out as the To-Ga-Ir did, the ponies prancing under the skilled hands of their riders. If war did come between the Varden and the To-Ga-Ir, Murtagh knew the Varden would be sorely pressed to defend against the mounted warriors.

Out of the line of Varden came Nasuada surrounded by her guard. Next to her came Orrin and Orik, Islanzadi and Nar'Gharhvog. A span of fifty feet separated them from Kaucha and Murtagh. To complete the Varden's impressive line came Eragon and Saphira, the former dressed in clothing befitting a Rider – a far cry from Murtagh's earthen-and-stone coloured clothing.

-I'm sorry.- Saphira told Murtagh. -I tried to explain.-

-I know. Don't worry about it.- Murtagh replied, soothing her a bit. Nasuada stepped forward, as did Kaucha. The old chieftain showed no fear in facing down the young woman, nor did he show any inclination of backing down. Nasuada raised her hand and pointed. "You harbour a traitor."

"I harbour no such thing." Kaucha replied. Behind him his warriors – Elva, Saïle, Assan, and Yurich included – howled their agreement. "I harbour a hero, a warrior, and he is my son."

Murtagh saw Eragon jerk as Saphira explained the last part to him. He could imagine that silent conversation and found himself meeting Eragon's eyes. He inclined his head slightly, and Eragon replied in kind. Murtagh sighed. So, his half-brother was learning.

"He's a murderer, a king-killer, a liar, and a slave." Nasuada continued. "He used a false name to get close to Eragon Shadeslayer, and lied to us all."

-He didn't lie!- Saphira shouted suddenly. -Sharru-Kinu is his name! His To-Ga-Ir name.-

"Saphira, you knew?" Arya asked, voicing everyone's surprise and displeasure.

-Of course I knew.- Saphira replied. -A friend told me.-

"Thorn." Spat one of Nasuada's guard.

Eragon forestalled any forthcoming tirade. "Look, he's different now. He's changed. If he was working for Galbatorix still, he could've easily killed me in the dreamscape. Murtagh is different now."

"We can't take your word for it," Arya said softly. "Yours or Saphira's."

Nasuada looked at Kaucha. "Arya is right. We can't trust Eragon's word, or Saphira's."

"Then trust mine."

Katrina stepped out from the line of warriors, Hatori by her side. The Varden fell silent, though many were whispering, and those whispers would soon reach Roran. "Trust my word," Katrina insisted. "I didn't know him before the war. I know him now, and I wouldn't trust anyone else as much as I trust him."

Murtagh stepped forward then, hands held palm up and away from his weapons. "I'll answer for my crimes. Now isn't the time."

Before Nasuada cold reply, Roran broke from the line, racing for Katrina. He switched direction though, and rushed Murtagh, the silver of a knife glinting in his fist. Murtagh didn't move; he didn't have to, for Roran was suddenly pinned by a giant red talon as Thorn landed before the host of the Varden. The crimson dragon merely lifted his claw from Roran and snorted.

"I'd say that was a grand entrance." Elva said dryly.

Judging from the stunned expressions of the Varden's leaders, Saïle couldn't agree more.


	22. Chapter 22

Field of Sorrow

Yurich wasn't surprised that the King Orik wished to see him. The stout dwarf didn't stop in his work, hammering out metal when the king appeared. Orik was alone, something that surprised Yurich, but the young dwarf just kept working. If he stopped now, he knew this masterpiece would be ruined.

"Yer serious about trusting him then?" Orik asked, not demanding for Yurich to stop his work.

"I am." Yurich replied over the din of hammer and metal. "Saved mine own life, saved the lives of those horse-lovers, sacrificed his own needs fer the needs of those around him. Murtagh's a true Rider."

"Would ye forgive him the murder of Hrothgar?"

The water hissed as the red hot metal slid in. "Forgive him?" Yurich asked. "Hasn't he suffered enough for his crimes? No, he'll ask to serve a sentence for Hrothgar's life. Knowin' Murtagh like I do, he'll expect some sort of physical punishment. I'd forgive him; make him sit for our artists as punishment. But I'm no king." Yurich turned to his forge and pulled out more metal.

Orik watched the young dwarf for a moment longer before he retreated. He found Eragon standing in the field, eyes raised to the sky as he watched Saphira and Thorn. Orik's eyes rose as well, watching the two majestic dragons twist and turn in the air. "Thorn's even changed." Orik said softly.

"Yes he has." Eragon replied. "He's teaching her things Glaedr didn't even know."

"Yer thinkin' Murtagh didn't tell everything?"

Eragon thought back to yesterday's meeting, where Murtagh explained everything, even showed his maps of Urû'baen and his Rider's sword, the iridescent blade Celeb'sûl. Though he'd explained the sword's creation, Eragon knew Murtagh was leaving out something important. "He'd have told us if it were relevant."

"Would he?" Orik asked. "Yurich knows Murtagh's unspoken secret. Assan knows. Probably Katrina, Elva, and Saïle. But they won't tell."

"Thorn won't either." Eragon replied. "They're protecting someone."

"From us?"

Eragon didn't reply. Orik nodded slowly. "I've been thinkin' about absolving yer brother of his crime. Releasing ye from yer oath."

Eragon looked sharply at Orik. "Are you serious?"

"Seems to me that yer brother, despite his lineage, has a good head on his shoulders." Orik replied, stroking his beard. "Of course, the clans won't be too happy about that decision, especially since you vowed to kill Hrothgar's murderer."

Eragon frowned and looked away from Orik, back to Saphira and Thorn. "Perhaps in a display of valor and courage, that stain of being a king-killer was erased."

"Are you suggesting the day he saved you?"

"Without me, Saphira wouldn't fight. The Varden, for all their allies, would be facing not only an enemy on the ground, but one in the air should Galbatorix bring out Shruikan." Eragon lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "And if it weren't for that, all of us would be dead."

Orik nodded absently. "I'll discuss this with my wife. If she agrees with ye, then I can argue the case with the Dûrgrimst and Murtagh'll be absolved."

Eragon gave a slight nod and watched Thorn break from Saphira to land gracefully before Murtagh. Swallowing and gathering his courage, Eragon strode toward the pair and felt relieved when Saphira landed as well. Murtagh glanced at Eragon and gave the younger man a slight smile. "I see you escaped." Murtagh said upon Eragon's arrival.

"I got kicked out, actually. We'll be told our role in the war, it seems."

Murtagh rubbed Thorn's nose and sighed. "It'd be better if the To-Ga-Ir were used as the cavalry instead of the front attack. Their ponies are built for quick attacks, not charges."

"Are you saying Nasuada doesn't know what she's doing?" Eragon asked, surprised.

Murtagh shrugged. "Does she know what she's doing? Yes. Does she know how to do what she's doing?" Murtagh shrugged again. "By now, news has reached Galbatorix of this latest development. He'll be sending a force against us, but the question is when. We're disorganized. We have civilians and trained soldiers. What we need to do is make a battlefield of our choosing, where our soldiers are most effective."

"You're suggesting deposing Nasuada as leader of the Varden." Eragon warned quietly.

No. Saphira said. He's suggesting we let Nasuada know she's making too many mistakes. She hasn't asked for the input of Kaucha nor us. She'll undoubtedly kill many before the war is over.

Our goal is to preserve as much life as we can. Thorn added. He raised his head from Murtagh's hands and looked back at the bustling camp. With a battlefield of our choosing, he would be able to protect those who can't fight and the wounded.

"Nasuada and the others went on the offensive only a few times." Murtagh added. "The defeat at Gil'ead put them on the defensive and allowed Galbatorix the chance to bolster his forces."

Eragon blinked and felt Saphira's approval as he began to understand. "The longer we sit here and wait the more of a chance Galbatorix has to create a battlefield that suits his victory."

"Exactly." Murtagh, Thorn, and Saphira said at the same time. "The only problem is convincing Nasuada, Orrin, Orik, and Islanzadi." Murtagh added.

"Orik won't be a problem." Eragon said. "And I can talk with Islanzadi. As for Nasuada and Orrin," Eragon shrugged.

"We'll hold a council." Murtagh suggested. "As Riders, they'll have to attend and listen, or they'll shame us."

-Not to mention themselves.- Thorn added.

Eragon nodded and eyed his half-brother with a new respect. "How soon should we do this?"

-As quickly as we can.- Saphira rumbled. -Every minute we dally is another minute Galbatorix can use for himself.-

"All right." Eragon nodded. "I'll talk to Orik and Islanzadi. You can talk to Kaucha and the other To-Ga-Ir. With any luck, we'll pull this off before anything horrible happens."

Murtagh nodded and reached out to squeeze Eragon's shoulder. Then the pair separated, leaving Thorn and Saphira alone on the field. Eragon found Orik with Roran, both gazing at a small babe in Roran's arms. Eragon grinned and approached them, leaning over Roran's shoulder. "She's a princess."

Roran chuckled. "And if it weren't for Murtagh, I wouldn't be holding her in my arms now."

"Katrina told us the story." Orik told Eragon at the young man's stare. "Seems yer brother saved her from the clutches of Galbatorix and kept her safe on the way here."

"And I tried to kill him." Roran muttered sadly.

"Good thing Thorn stopped that." Eragon smiled. Then he looked to Orik. "I need to speak with you."

"Speak away." Orik said, obviously including Roran in what was supposed to be private.

Eragon told his clan-brother and king the story, Murtagh's ideas and that Saphira most of all agreed with him. Orik nodded and stroked his beard and kept silent until Eragon had finished. "He makes a good point. For all the good she's done, she's about to do worse now."

Roran grunted. He didn't have to explain what Nasuada had done to him for disobeying orders and saving many lives. Eragon glanced at his cousin, then back to Orik. "So you agree?"

"Telled ye before, Eragon. I'm fighting fer ye." Orik said with a slight grin.

Eragon nodded. "Now I just have to convince Islanzadi."

But Eragon never got the chance. A horn blared, an outrider's horn for the To-Ga-Ir, giving warning. Cursing, Eragon looked at Roran. "Defend the defenseless!"

"Count on me, Eragon." Roran said as he rose, calling for Katrina.

All around Eragon and Orik there was activity, soldiers pulling on armour as quick as they could, grabbing weapons and falling into their lines. Eragon saw Saphira being outfitted by the dwarves, but of Murtagh and Thorn he saw no sign. The To-Ga-Ir, to Eragon's surprise, were standing at the front, mounted on their horses and wielding bows, pikes, and swords. The shamans stood behind the warriors, preparing spells and blessing the warriors. Eragon met Arya and his guard, meeting Arya's eyes. She must've heard for there was approval in her eyes. He pulled on his armour and felt the protection spells fall into place as he pulled on Brisingr and his belt.

-Saphira! Where's Thorn?- Eragon called as Arya fitted his helmet.

-He's ready.- Was all Saphira said. -Hurry, the outriders have returned. It's a force of ten thousand, and a score of them are Immortals.-

"Eragon," Arya whispered. "Be safe."

"I will." Eragon replied. "You as well."

The elf maiden gave him a smile and led him to Saphira who stood proudly in her dwarf-made armour. He climbed into the saddle and with his guard walked to the front lines, standing as a dividing force between the To-Ga-Ir and the Urgals. Behind, the elves lined up, readying their bows, and then the soldiers of the Varden and Surda filled the gaps. Eragon looked around for Murtagh and Thorn, but he only spotted Elva standing with Saïle, Assan among the shamans, and the dwarf Yurich standing beside Orik. He saw, too, Islanzadi, Nasuada and Orrin on the back lines.

-They're coming.- Murtagh's voice sounded in Eragon's head. -Take to the air. We'll surprise them.-

-Where are you?-

-Look up.-

Eragon raised his eyes to see Thorn floating easily in the air, a dark shadow high in the sky. Eragon looked to Saphira. "You heard him."

-I did. Will they be all right?-

-Kaucha knows what to do. The To-Ga-Ir, the Urgals, and the elves that follow Saïle know what to do.- Thorn answered. -Come up.-

Saphira spread her wings and tamped down her hind legs, shooting straight up. Eragon looked down and saw Saïle leave Elva's side to fill in Saphira's hole, ten other elves following him. Eragon recognized Vanir and shook his head.-Surprises.- He thought.

Saphira leveled off beside Thorn and couldn't contain her surprise and admiration. Thorn wore armour made of thick layers of tiny rings, his head, neck, and chest covered by it. The armour even covered his belly, making sure the large dragon would be protected. Murtagh simply wore his normal clothing, though only he and Thorn knew it was stronger than the armour Eragon wore.

-Yurich made it.- Thorn said proudly.

-We can explain later.- Murtagh said. -Here they come.-

Eragon focused on a black mass quickly coming toward the waiting Varden. Ten thousand soldiers, some Immortal, converged on the land between them and their enemies. Eragon saw Murtagh raise his hand, felt Thorn begin to gather air in his lungs, and felt Saphira do the same. In an instant, Eragon knew Murtagh's plan and grinned.

-Saphira, you know what to do. I'll concentrate on healing if need be.- Eragon told the blue dragon.

-Just hold on tight.- Saphira replied with a laugh.

Below, Eragon watched as the To-Ga-Ir warriors led by Kaucha began to trot out of their places. The Urgals were quick to follow and Saïle and his line readied their bows. He could imagine Nasuada's anger, but she couldn't do anything now. He looked back to Murtagh and saw that hand drop.

Bellowing a roar that could shake the earth, Thorn suddenly dove for the Empire soldiers. Saphira let out her own roar and plummeted right behind the larger dragon. Below, the horns of the To-Ga-Ir and Urgals sounded and the counter-charge began. Just before the Empire and the combined forces of the To-Ga-Ir and the Urgals clashed, they separated like a wave crashing around a stone, and Thorn and Saphira blew through, unleashing their devastating flames. They climbed up again and wove around in the air, going higher than arrows could reach them. The To-Ga-Ir warriors and Urgals crashed into the leading lines of the Empire soldiers and a hail of arrows came from the elves. Thorn banked and scanned the lines of the Empire, falling into a diving spin as he unleashed his fire at the rear guard. Saphira performed the same trick on the opposite sides, the two passing so close to one another Murtagh and Eragon could've reached out and brushed hands.

The human portion of the Varden soon entered into the fray, followed by Islanzadi and her elves. The spell-casters of the Du Vrangr Gata focused their efforts on healing and aiding offensively when the opportunity arose. Eragon twisted in his saddle and thought he could cheer – They were winning!

-Eyes ahead!- Murtagh barked suddenly. -Never think you've won until you have your enemy at your mercy! Fight with all your heart!-

Eragon saw Murtagh glaring at him from Thorn's back, and then watched as the elder Rider put an arrow into an Immortal's head. He simply nodded and Thorn let out a bugling call as he fell into a dive and unleashed his fire again. Saphira banked and caught a thermal, hovering as she caught her breath. So many were dead already, on both sides, wounded being dragged to safety by comrades. Eragon felt Saphira gather herself, then dive to unleash her fire in defense of several To-Ga-Ir. They were going to win – already the back lines of the Empire were retreating. The weakened chargers too retreated only to regroup and charge once more. The Empire was scattering now, routed for the time being. Eragon thought he could relax. Then he heard an anguished howl and it took him a moment to realize it was Thorn vocalizing Murtagh's pain.

Both Eragon and Saphira watched as Thorn dove for Kaucha and Saphira let out a roar of warning. But Thorn's wings snapped out, sending him soaring, Riderless, over the retreating soldiers. On the ground, Murtagh unsheathed Celeb'sûl and went into a frenzy. He was vicious in his movements, but graceful all the same. That iridescent red blade cut and slashed flesh, and Thorn banked to clear the area around his Rider with a great torrent of fire. Eragon felt empathy for the elder Rider in that moment, for Murtagh had been too late to save Kaucha. As the sound of victory came from the Varden, the To-Ga-Ir and those who knew Murtagh became silent. Saphira landed beside Thorn and butted his neck gently with her snout, trying to comfort the younger dragon as he felt the pain and anguish his Rider did. Eragon dismounted and moved to Murtagh's side, placing his hand on his half-brother's shoulder.

"He should've stayed back." Murtagh whispered. "But he was too proud. He died in a way befitting a warrior of the To-Ga-Ir and I…" Murtagh trailed off and clenched his fist tight around the hilt of Celeb'sûl. "I attacked in anger."

"You avenged him" Eragon said softly.

-Yes.- Saphira added. -You did what any son would do for his father.-

Murtagh looked up at Saphira, then to Eragon. He nodded and sheathed Celeb'sûl, moving to Thorn and removing a beautiful black horn from one of the saddlebags. He brought it to his lips and blew. The note that escaped was long and mournful, but it brought the To-Ga-Ir warriors to the Riders. Murtagh didn't have to say a word; the warriors moved to their chieftain and lifted up that torn body, easing it into the saddle of a pony, as though the man were still alive. Then the group, along with the two Riders and their dragons, moved back to the Varden lines, a slow procession that sang out what sounded like a dirge of praises. When they reached the place the dead were placed until burial, Murtagh stopped and turned to face Nasuada.

"Look well, Nasuada," Murtagh said in a cold voice. "Look what defense is costing you. If you want victory, you must act and act decisively and swiftly." He was gone before the young woman could protest. The To-Ga-Ir gathered their dead and went with him.

Eragon looked then to Nasuada. "He's right, you know."

"He deliberately disobeyed orders." Nasuada replied. "Those that died, their blood is on his hands."

"That blood is on all our hands." Arya said sharply. She stood beside Vanir, supporting the young elf for his left leg wouldn't take his weight. "Murtagh is right. We must go on the offensive now."

Seeing the fight about to happen, Eragon raised his right hand. "We'll hold council." He said. "We'll discuss this and we'll reach an agreement."

Arya looked at him sharply but nodded. Nasuada nodded as well. Eragon let out the breath he'd been holding and hoped he was doing the right thing.


	23. Chapter 23

Trial of the Blue Rider

The meeting was delayed for three days. Eragon saw little of Murtagh, catching fleeting glimpses of him among the To-Ga-Ir. On the night of the third day, a great funeral pyre lit up the night, and Eragon watched flickering shadows dance around the fire. He watched Thorn add his fire to the pyre, and saw a spark of red magic as Murtagh added his. When the fire finally burned to ashes, Murtagh and the To-Ga-Ir returned to the Varden, following a new chieftain. Nasuada seemed surprised that she was to face down Hatori, Kaucha's daughter by blood and Murtagh's sister by adoption. Hatori wore a warrior's dress, her once long hair now cropped short, and her face stained by the ashes of the funeral pyre. She sat beside Murtagh, her guard and Assan behind them.

Also in attendance was Islanzadi and Arya, Orrin and his guard, Orik and Yurich, several of the head mages from the Du Vrangr Gata, and of course Nasuada and her guard. The meeting was being held within Nasuada's private tent, which gave her the advantage. Or so she thought. It wasn't until she began to thank the To-Ga-Ir did Nasuada realize her mistake.

Hatori snorted. "Fight for you?" she asked. "We follow Sharru-Kinu, and Sharru-Kinu only. While we fight on the same side, the To-Ga-Ir do not fight for Nasuada."

"Then why are you here?" Nasuada asked the chieftainess with a bitter sound. "Why did you come all this way?"

"For my brother." Hatori answered without pause. "He saw your failure and still sees it now, for though you're a competent leader, you're very fresh to war."

"And what war have you been in?" Orrin asked, leaning forward with interest.

Hatori straightened. "I've fought against demons called the As'ratlegûl. I've fought in the Trial to become a woman. I've trained to be a warrior and a hunter. I've lived my life in the deserts where water is scarce. What wars, King Orrin, have you suffered in?"

Orrin didn't reply, and only looked at Hatori with a strange gleam to his eye. One of the To-Ga-Ir warriors shifted behind Hatori and Orrin straightened. Nasuada turned to Eragon where he sat with Islanzadi and Arya. "What say you, Eragon?"

"Murtagh's right." Eragon said at length. "He knows Galbatorix better than we do, knows how he thinks and what his course would be. We'd be arranging our own defeat if we continue to do nothing."

"I've spoken with Nar'Gharhvog." Islanzadi interjected. "He agrees with Eragon that we should follow Murtagh's advice." Her eyes found Murtagh's and he inclined his head respectively.

"But how can we trust him?" Nasuada asked. "You haven't told us the whole truth about you, Murtagh."

Murtagh's smirk was empty and humourless. "Would you believe me? No. You'd believe I made it up and I'd lead you to a trap. You don't know the extent of the cruelty I suffered, that Thorn suffered, under his control. Do you really think he's throwing his best at you?"

"Are you his best?"

"He's searching for the True Name." Eragon interrupted. "If we attack now, he'll have to divide his attention."

Silence permeated the tent. Nasuada and Murtagh glowered at each other and suddenly Eragon realized Nasuada was afraid that Murtagh was trying to take her position as leader of the Varden. Murtagh rose then and pulled out a deep violet sphere. The silence became even more profound – Murtagh was holding an Eldunari!

"Elysian, great Lady, talk to one who descended from your Rider." Murtagh spoke softly. "Tell her what you know."

The violet Eldunari swirled and from within the gathering could see the shape of a purple dragon. Nasuada stiffened as she stared at the Eldunari and remained so until the Eldunari's light went out. Then, Murtagh hid the orb once more. "Do you need more? Between the five of them, they have a little energy left."

"You have five?" Nasuada gasped out.

"They were given to me by the very man you seek to defeat." Murtagh said. "During my training, the months I refuse to tell you, Elysian alone had the power to destroy me. But since I made my choice, I stand here before you."

Silence pressed down on the gathering, most in shock at Murtagh's admission. Nasuada suddenly rose. "I must think. Tend your wounds and I'll call for another meeting." She fled without actually fleeing. Murtagh canted his head and moved to Hatori, the To-Ga-Ir gathering moving out of the tent. After a few moments, Eragon hurried after Murtagh. He nearly ran into the man, for Murtagh stood waiting for him. Eragon straightened and glared at his half-brother. Murtagh only gave him a mild stare in return before he turned to walk away. Sputtering, Eragon quickly followed.

"Why didn't you say you had five Eldunari?" Eragon asked, almost yelling.

"They asked me not to." Murtagh replied easily. He paused to look at the younger Rider. "I only obeyed their wishes."

"And what you did today?"

"Elysian asked."

Eragon glowered at Murtagh. "What do you plan on doing? Where do you plan on leading the Varden? On leading Alagaësia?"

"I plan on freeing Alagaësia from a tyrant. I plan on bringing back the Riders as they should've been. I don't want to lead the Varden or Alagaësia." Murtagh replied. "I want to end this war and live in peace. And if I need to keep secrets to do it, so be it."

"Why would you keep a secret from me?" Eragon asked. "Family aside, we're fellow Riders. If we can't trust each other then we'll be right back where we started."

"Eragon, it's not my secret to tell. I must get permission to tell you because lives count on my silence." Murtagh replied, exasperated. "I promised."

Eragon clenched his fists. "I want to know."

"I can't, Eragon. Maybe after the war is over, but now, I can't." Murtagh patted Eragon's shoulder and turned to walk away. Eragon, however, quickly followed. "What must I do?"

"What?"

"To learn this secret. What must I do?"

Murtagh paused to look at Eragon and tilted his head. "Open your heart."

Eragon froze as Murtagh turned to walk away, meeting Assan and Elva at the edge of the To-Ga-Ir camp. Eragon clenched his fists and glowered at Murtagh's back. "Open my heart?" The vocalization didn't bring any answers to him. He went to find Arya, hoping maybe she could answer his questions. He was asked, however, to aid in the healing, and soon forgot his desire to learn Murtagh's secret.

-You risked much in revealing Elysian.- Thorn told Murtagh as the pair walked a wide field away from the camp. -And you lied to Eragon.-

"Do you think he needs to know Eragon and Bid'Daum exist? Or the Fel? How do you think they'd react to that knowledge?" Murtagh asked, looking up at the great red dragon.

Thorn rumbled annoyance but nodded. -I suppose you're right. But will you tell them?-

"One day, maybe. But I'm hoping I'll never have to, or need to, because the Fel and Eragon deserve their rest."

-And you plan to live there as well one day.-

Murtagh smiled. "It was peaceful. But maybe we'll follow Nimki's path and go across the sea."

-Maybe.- Thorn sighed. -Those days are still a long way, though.-

"Better for that then."

Murtagh patted Thorn's shoulder and closed his eyes, listening to the land. He hadn't done this in a while, and so it took him a moment to get a feel for the land's rhythm. Soon, though, he was listening to the plants, hearing their stories and hearing their songs. Thorn kept guard beside him while Murtagh communed with the land and made sure they wouldn't be taken by surprise. When Murtagh opened his eyes, he felt calmer and ready to deal with what was to come. He and Thorn spent a few more hours out in the wilds before returning to camp and spending their evening hours with the To-Ga-Ir. The days passed in peace, outriders roaming far and wide before returning. Murtagh knew Galbatorix was gathering his strength for another strike, but when that strike would come Murtagh didn't know. He wanted to move the camp, to go on the offensive and bring the war to Urû'baen. However, Nasuada hadn't yet convened the meeting and no decisions had been made. Even though Murtagh knew he was strong enough to fight a lone battle, and the To-Ga-Ir would follow, they didn't have the numbers to win the final battle. They needed the Varden and its allies.

Murtagh received word of the council through Elva. The hour didn't bother him – meetings at night for secrecy were often the best – but it was that neither he nor Hatori had been informed. Murtagh decided then he was done playing the game. He asked Thorn for his opinion and received the dragon's agreement. Every day that passed was a day less the mighty red had to save his young, unhatched green brother. Alone, knowing he'd have Hatori's support whether she was there or not, Murtagh stormed into the council and simply waved his hand to drop a spell of silence upon the tent.

"What is the meaning of this?" Nasuada demanded.

"Be silent." Murtagh snarled. Nasuada clutched her throat when her voice failed her and settled in her chair. The air around Murtagh shimmered with a red haze, shielding him from spells and weapons alike. "I'll forgive you for not informing me or my chieftain of the meeting. I'll call it oversight, for the sake of our allyship. What I cannot forgive is your fear that my presence here will cost you.

"Hear me now, Nasuada and the leaders of Alagaësia's races. I'll no longer stand idle and play these games of waiting and politics. I am Estel az Ahir-Enei, Scion of Alagaësia. I am the shield and sword of the land. Your hesitance is costing lives, lives that are wasted because of this hesitance and fear. I can help you; I know the way, the tactics, and the speed we need to have to win this.

"I'm not the same man who hunted you, not the man who caused you grief. I am here to protect you, protect the land and the people who live there. I am here, like Eragon Shadeslayer is here, to defend and protect, to stand for what is right. If we're to stand for that, then what do you stand for?"

"How dare you speak to us this way?!" Orrin shouted. He started to rise, but Murtagh's fierce glare froze him in place.

"Knowing what I do, I dare a great deal, King Orrin." Murtagh snarled softly. "All my life I've been hated and distrusted because of my sire. Because I carry his name, it's assumed I'm just like him. But I'm more than he was, I'm what he should've been! If our deeds are measured against our fathers' then what are we worth? I'm finished with politics and playing these games. We don't have time to play – every day that passes is a day we have lost for a chance at victory. Play your petty games after the ware is done."

"What would you have us do?" To the surprise of all, this came from Islanzadi, the elf queen having kept her silence until now.

"I would have you fight." Murtagh replied. "We create a battlefield of our choosing, of our favour."

"One that would give us the advantage," Islanzadi continued. "Yes," she agreed, "And I shall vouch for you, Estel az Ahir-Enei, for if it weren't for you, we wouldn't have Naegling in our possession."

Murtagh gave a slight bow to the elf queen who inclined her head. Orik stroked his beard and nodded. "I vouch fer ye too, Murtagh. Ye taught Yurich the right way, and he's given me great ideas to think about."

Murtagh wondered if he felt giddy as the council fell in behind Orik and Islanzadi, but he kept himself calm and looked at Nasuada. "What say you?"

Nasuada gasped as sound returned to her and she glowered at Murtagh. "It seems I have no choice but to put aside politics and follow you."

Murtagh nodded and dropped his spells. Eragon chose that moment to attack with a spell of his own, and found himself repelled. "But you don't agree." Murtagh said as he stalked toward Eragon, grabbing the young man by his shirt and pulling him out of the tent.

"You still have too many secrets!" Eragon shouted, wresting free from Murtagh's grip and drawing Brisingr. "Why should we follow you, when all you've done now is use your magic against us?"

There was a crowd now, the leaders among them, and Murtagh could sense their doubt growing. He stared down Eragon and refused to draw his sword. "Are we performing a Trial then?"

The concept threw Eragon for a moment and it allowed Murtagh to get within the younger Rider's defenses, delivering two quick punches to his gut before dancing away. Some would've cheered, both were sure, but Saphira and Thorn stood watching now. Eragon stumbled in his attack, finally realizing Saphira wouldn't help him here. Brisingr howled in, but Murtagh dodged the attack and spun, kicking Eragon's feet from under him. Unarmed as he was, he was simply proving his point: he didn't want to fight with the Varden, Murtagh simply wanted the war to end.

He felt Eragon gathering his strength for a spell and Murtagh quickly sent a call to the roots buried deep in the earth. They shuddered at his call, but answered. Murtagh locked eyes with his half-brother and sighed. -A Trial, Eragon, determines who leads the Riders. Should you continue and lose, you can't contest me when the time comes.-

-Then I'll just have to defeat you!- And Eragon came on, swinging Brisingr for a kill.

Murtagh danced back, dodging that blade again and again. -Why are you angry? A day ago, you were agreeing with me and now you're trying to kill me. Who are you trying to impress?-

"Shut up!" Eragon shouted and moved after Murtagh. The earth beneath his feet shifted, a tangle of roots coming up to snag Eragon's feet. Murtagh moved in then, aware of the spell Eragon was casting, ducking around it and slamming his fist into Eragon's diaphragm. He wasn't trying to kill Eragon or shame him, but the young man wasn't giving him much choice. The root tangle came loose and Eragon lunged for Murtagh.

Celeb'sûl sounded against Brisingr, the iridescent red blade holding where other swords would've shattered. "What's wrong with you?" Murtagh hissed.

"You're wrong." Eragon replied. "You can't lead like that. You used your power to force their hand and what do you gain? An army!"

Murtagh broke away and spun, Celeb'sûl coming up across his chest as he fell into stance. He was no stranger to fighting a Rider – he'd fought his teacher as part of his training – so Murtagh knew he could defeat Eragon. The question, no, the real battle, was getting Eragon to realize Murtagh meant no harm. Eragon's right foot shifted and Murtagh lunged forward. He came in low, cut right and twisted to slam the flat of his blade against Eragon's back.

Knowing everyone gathered was listening, Murtagh circled the prone and angry Eragon. "An army? No. I never asked for this. I never asked to be a Rider, to be the Scion, but that's what I am and I don't regret it. But I'm tired, Eragon. I'm tired of this fighting. Our niece doesn't deserve to grow up without a father or mother. The children who have yet to be born don't deserve a world like we live in now. Aren't they who we're fighting for? The children who are too innocent to know their world is wrong? The people who are afraid to speak out because they might disappear? The longer we take, the more victims there are.

"Our task as Riders is to protect the people. I don't want to lead – I want to defend and protect. But unless we work together, unless we take the initiative, I won't be afraid to protect you from yourself." Murtagh spun Celeb'sûl around Brisingr and flung the sword wide. The very tip of that red blade pressed against Eragon's throat. "Do you understand now?"

It was Nasuada who answered. "Yes. I understand now."

Murtagh stepped back from Eragon. The Trial was over and all who gathered bowed their heads as the new leader of the Riders passed by.


	24. Chapter 24

A Battleground of Our Choosing

Murtagh stood beside Nasuada as they watched the wide field before them transform into one giant trap. The Varden had set out for Urû'baen, taking cities as they went. Many villages surrendered before the army had even crested the horizons and the ranks swelled. Many had heard of the miraculous resurrection of Murtagh, and some who joined the Varden were those Murtagh had helped before he'd even become a Rider. Now, though, the Varden and its allies worked to make a battlefield that suited them, for in three days a massive army of the Empire's would be upon them.

"Will it work?" Nasuada asked.

"I would estimate half our traps will work." Murtagh answered honestly. "The rest'll be up to the soldiers and us."

Nasuada looked at Murtagh and nodded slightly. "And you're serious about the aftermath of this war?"

"I've no love for ruling." Murtagh sighed. "All I want to do is live in peace, to come to your aid when I'm needed. I'll usher in a new generation of Riders with Eragon's help, so being a king is the last thing on my mind."

"Besides," spoke Assan as he approached the pair, "your calling is one of much more importance than that of a king."

Murtagh smirked. "True. Did you need me?"

"I was sent to find you. Hatori requests your presence."

Murtagh looked to Nasuada and excused himself, following Assan down to where Hatori had set up her tent. The pair entered the tent and found they weren't the only ones there. Elva and Saïle were there, along with Katrina and Roran with their daughter. Hatori stood in the center of the tent, dressed in the To-Ga-Ir equivalent of armour.

"You asked for me?" Murtagh spoke softly.

Hatori turned to face him. "With my – our – father dead, it falls to us to bless our family for this war."

"Eragon's not here."

"He declined." Katrina said, almost disapprovingly. "Let him be."

Roran shook his head. "He's still sore at you."

Murtagh sighed and shrugged. "What do we do, Hatori?"

The young woman smiled and produced long red feathers, the same as the one Murtagh wore in his hair now. Whispering in his ear, Hatori told him what she wanted and he took the feathers as she began to sing lightly. It was over before it'd even really begun, and Murtagh was left with two red feathers in his hand. Hatori hugged him tight and Murtagh returned the gesture. Both Saïle and Elva hugged him before they left, then Katrina, Roran, and Assan. Murtagh stepped back from Hatori and forced her to look at him.

"We'll survive." He told her. "We'll see the dawn of a new world."

"I trust you." Hatori wiped her eyes and took a breath. "Go now. I'll be fine."

Murtagh nodded and left Hatori alone, moving to walk with Assan. He twirled the red feathers in his hold and wondered what he was going to do with them. He and Assan came across Arya and Eragon soon enough and Murtagh sighed.

"Even if you don't consider him your brother, you'll be working with him." Assan sighed. "Perhaps, before this battle, you should make nice."

"Wait for me."

Assan nodded and held his ground as Murtagh stepped toward Arya and Eragon. What was said Assan couldn't hear, but Eragon seemed to be a bit more humble and reasonable, and Arya too didn't seem so haughty. Murtagh offered the feathers then, and it was Arya who took them, smiling just a little. Murtagh returned to Assan and sighed. He wouldn't explain the conversation and Assan didn't ask him to. Time was too short to entertain petty hatreds.

Saphira found Thorn laying in the shade of the lone three in the Varden's camp, his head on his paws, his eyes closed. She moved closer and settled beside him, watching the crimson-scaled leviathan.

-Are you afraid?- Thorn asked her.

Saphira blinked. -Should I not be?-

-I'd worry if you weren't.-

Saphira gazed at Thorn and her heart warmed. He lay there so still, trusting her, for if she had the mind to, she could easily kill him. Instead, she settled into a crouch beside him and turned her gaze to the sky. -The field is almost ready.  
Then our war will come soon enough. In a few hours, perhaps, or early dawn.-

-The scouts say the enemy is still many days away.-

Thorn snorted. -The enemy attacks on two occasions: when they're ready for you and when you're not ready for them. We must be vigilant at all times.-

Saphira blinked and watched Thorn rise. Saphira couldn't hope to reach Thorn's size – a good twenty-four feet tall. Saphira herself was nearing twenty-one feet and she could feel she would stop growing soon. She measured herself proudly, though, for as big as Thorn was, she could easily best him if she had a mind to. But she was no longer his enemy, rather his friend and growing closer. She wondered for a long moment if Thorn would become her mate with how close they were becoming but put the thought from her head. Now wasn't the time to be thinking about such things.

-I'd be honoured, though.-

Saphira's attention jerked to the red dragon beside her. -What?-

Thorn chuckled. -You were thinking aloud. I'd be honoured if you chose me as your mate.-

-Why?-

-Who could ask for a better one? You're strong and wise, playful and caring.- Thorn shrugged his shoulders. -You'll be the light of our entire race.-

-And you would shine beside me?- Saphira asked, her tone both serious and curious.

-Hardly shine. None could outshine you, Blue Sister.- Thorn swung his head to look at her and he smiled as well as a dragon could. -But we have time yet before that happens.-

Saphira blinked and nodded almost numbly. She watched Thorn move away from his shady tree and followed once she got her wits about her again, pushing thoughts of mating far from her mind. Now wasn't the time for those thoughts and besides, more important things were about to take place. This was a battle in a series of final battles and she wouldn't fail. Saphira gazed at Thorn and silently promised him she wouldn't fail him or the green that remained in his egg. She'd see her youngest nest-mate free before the end and she'd make it so no dragon could ever be enslaved again. Saphira promised.

She swore.

The mighty dragoness spent the calm of the evening by herself, sorting out her thoughts and only half-listening to Eragon. The boy was confused and rightly so, for everything he'd planned had been quite literally ripped from him. Saphira was certain, though, Murtagh wouldn't become a tyrant like Galbatorix, and she could feel the older Rider was only trying to protect those dearest to him by keeping the truth hidden. Thorn hadn't told her either, but she knew he would when it was time. One thing at a time, Saphira told herself.

Two whole days passed in peace but the Varden and its allies weren't idle. Weapons were forged, shields made, arrows carved and fletched, and even Saphira and Thorn were outfitted with new armour. Saphira now wore the same ring-mail armour Thorn did, tinted blue to distinguish them. She felt so light as she flew, but knew, as she and Thorn practiced a battle in the air, it was stronger than her old armour. The civilians were soon fleeing what would become the battleground under a guard of the swiftest To-Ga-Ir and Urgals, and all knew war would soon be upon them.

Murtagh and Eragon approached their dragons, and Thorn lowered his snout to Murtagh's hands. Saphira did the same for Eragon.

-Did you work out your differences?- She asked her troubled Rider.

"We did." Eragon replied, looking to his half-brother. "Didn't we?"

"We decided that I would head the Riders," Murtagh started, "and Eragon would rebuild the Dragons. Together, we'll train a new generation as it was supposed to be."

"We also decided dragons would decide the affairs of dragons and Riders would decide the affairs of Riders." Eragon continued. "We don't want another Galbatorix rising, so if a dragon chooses to partner with a second Rider, it's their choice."

-As it should've been.- Thorn said in a stern tone. -Though it doesn't absolve Galbatorix of his treacherous decisions.-

-We'll mete out that justice.- Saphira added. -He'll never again terrorize Alagaësia when I'm through with him.-

"So you two agree then?" Eragon asked.

-We agree.- The two dragons said together.

Eragon looked at Murtagh – the head Rider of their order – and smiled. Murtagh returned the smile and moved to mount Thorn, settling in the silver and black saddle that denoted his station. Eragon swung up into his own saddle as well and moved to follow Murtagh as Thorn began to walk toward their take-off point on a cliff overlooking the battlefield. Hidden down there were the Kull, the fiercest warriors of the Urgals, and the To-Ga-Ir riders. Above in hidden niches were the archers, groups of five spaced randomly apart. On the high ground and in plain sight were the mounted spearmen, behind them the foot soldiers of all the races. The stout dwarves were underground, waiting for the signal from the two Riders, and the spell-casters of the Du Vrangr Gata, dwarves, and To-Ga-Ir stood hidden with the archers, ready for their role.

Everything was planned perfectly down to the smallest of movements. But Eragon knew this trick would only work this one time, so they'd have to come up with something else when the time came.

"Don't be afraid." He heard Murtagh say. Though the man was whispering, Eragon could hear him as if he'd yelled. "Though some of us will die this way, those deaths won't be in vain. We don't fight for glory or for ruin; we fight for Alagaësia and all who live here. We fight for a world were no one lives in fear. Give all you've got."

Eragon swallowed. "We're simply the Riders. We're the guardians, but you're the caretakers. Without you, there is no Alagaësia." He looked upon the small figures on the battlefield and knew they, too, could hear him. "Today is only one battle, tomorrow will bring another. But we will win. We'll see a new dawn."

"Fight now for what you love." The Riders finished together.

A horn sounded and the field soon darkened with a horde of the Empire's soldiers. They saw the waiting host of the Varden and charged. As if on cue, the sky darkened with arrows, cutting down those unlucky enough to be caught without cover. Then came the offensive spells and suddenly it all stopped. Then Thorn let out a tremendous roar, echoed by Saphira. Before the Empire could organize, the ground beneath their feet crumbled and the dwarves began their assault. To add to the confusion, Nasuada and Hatori sounded their charges and down came the Varden and the To-Ga-Ir. Arrows and spells continued to rain down, each individual ally protected by an assortment of shielding spells.

Thorn spread his wings and launched from the cliffside, quickly followed by Saphira. Down, down he dove and at the last moment snapped out his wings and fell into a barrel roll, shooting through the Empire soldiers. Both dragons knew their roles, Saphira swinging toward the Varden's charge and unleashing her devastating fire as Thorn swung toward the To-Ga-Ir and did the same thing. The field was chaos; the allies were moving in orchestrated perfection as the Empire fought to regain their lost momentum.

Saphira rose up high enough for Eragon to put his bow to use, emptying his first quiver and reducing his second to half. He and Murtagh were in perfect harmony, communicating with one another and letting their dragons choose their maneuvers. The battle was immediately in the Varden's favour, though many dead and wounded littered the field. The Empire's forces didn't retreat though, instead gathering those that still lived, mostly the Immortal forces, and focused their attacks.

On Saphira.

-Spell-casters!- Thorn roared. -Guard yourselves!- He banked to avoid a fireball and unleashed his own upon the group that had concealed themselves behind a spell of invisibility. His fireball broke upon the shield, but it disrupted their spellcasting and allowed several Urgals to fall upon them. Unfortunately, they were able to cast one spell before the last of them died, a bolt of lightning racing for Saphira.

The great female dragon let out a roar of pain as electricity snapped around her and she began a swift descent not of her choosing. Thorn raced for her, knowing he was too far away to do any good. He let out a roar of anger as Saphira hit the ground and unleashed his fire to protect her. He had to stop, though, and climb into the air, for another group of sorcerers had revealed themselves. Torn, the dragon chose to combat the spell-casters. Saphira and Eragon were on their own.

Eragon pulled himself from the saddle and dropped heavily to the dirt, nerves still jumping with the shock of electricity. -Saphira!- He called. -Are you alright?-

-I am.- Saphira slowly picked herself up, tail lashing to keep enemies at bay. -I don't think I can fly.-

Eragon glanced at her wings as he drew Brisingr and cursed. Her right wing was broken, and her left was bruised. She couldn't get in the air, but she couldn't stay on the ground. Murtagh was too far away to help them and he was busy protecting the To-Ga-Ir and Urgals who fought with the spell-casters.

Eragon made his decision.

He cast the healing spell while fending off those who'd do them arm and felt Saphira's relief that the pain was gone. -Fly, Saphira! Take to the sky!-

Saphira snarled. -Not without you!-

-You don't have a choice!- Eragon yelled back at her. -I can hide easily down here, you can't! Protect me from the sky, just like Thorn showed you!-

-Stupid boy! If you get hurt, I'll nip you!- Saphira snarled, and tamped down her hind legs. She clawed at the air, getting aloft and unleashing her fire.

Eragon blocked an attack for his side and spun, Brisingr breaking free and cutting down his enemy. To him, these men were far too slow, and he grew confident he could beat them easily. They couldn't hold a candle to his sparring partner Vanir, nor could they match Murtagh, who combined so many styles of fighting it was impossible to predict his movements. Around him, the Varden moved to defend him, chaos now enveloping the defenders. Still, they fought with their units as one instead of individually and perhaps it was that which saved them. Eragon ducked under a side chip and rammed Brisingr into the soldier's chest. The blade caught on the dead man's ribs and wouldn't come free.

Eragon looked up to see an axe coming his way and threw himself away from his sword. The axe swung harmlessly by, but it'd done what its owner had wanted. Eragon stumbled over the body of a fallen dwarf and crashed hard on his back, leaving him prone and open to attack. An Immortal loomed over him, the man's face twisted in a perverse leer. Eragon backed up, tried to get to his feet but slipped in a puddle of blood and went back down. Around him, the fighting was on in full and no one was coming to aid him.

-Saphira!-

-I'm trying, Eragon! Where are you?!-

Eragon couldn't answer. He rolled to avoid the downward chip and got to his knees. The poor Rider couldn't his feet under him in time, though, and had to fall onto his back to avoid decapitation.

-Eragon!-

Eragon stared up into the hate-filled eyes of the Immortal and knew, this time, there was no escape.


	25. Chapter 25

Now What?

Eragon closed his eyes tight in the face of his death. He should face it, he knew, face his demise like a true warrior. He apologized to everyone, especially to Saphira, and forced his eyes open to watch that axe swing toward him. A shadow passed over him and Eragon watched with wide eyes as Murtagh was suddenly between him and death, the silver blade in his left hand deflecting the Immortal's axe while Celeb'sûl came across in his right and sheared the Immortal's head from his shoulders. Murtagh continued his spin until he faced Eragon, his eyes blazing. He reached down and hauled Eragon to his feet.

"Never give up!" Murtagh snarled in the younger man's face. "Never give in!"

He shoved Eragon toward Brisingr and moved quickly to intercept another attack. Eragon retrieved his blade and watched Murtagh move. He was a fierce whirlwind, his swords parrying and creating openings for him to earn a kill. Even knowing he'd die in his very next breath, Murtagh fought on. Snarling at his own cowardice, Eragon pulled on Brisingr with all his strength. The sword came free at last and Eragon spun to defend his back from a coming attack. He watched Murtagh move among the combatants, defending one person one moment and killing an enemy the next. Eragon looked around him at the death and destruction and shivered. This had to end.

He looked up at the sky and Saphira and Thorn twisting about each other, diving down to unleash their fire. He saw the mages casting spell after spell, but they looked haggard. Time had passed quickly despite the feeling Eragon had that very little time had passed. It was almost noon and the Varden were no closer to a total victory than they'd been at the beginning of the battle.

-Saphira!- Eragon called. -How does it look up there?-

Her anger hit him like a brick. -It's a stalemate. We need help, Eragon. They're not going down!-

Eragon cursed and hurried to find Murtagh. His half-brother was covered in blood, his eyes focused on his task. He looked at Eragon when the younger man reached him and only nodded before Eragon could tell him of their situation.

"We can't go on much longer." Eragon said.

"I know." Murtagh wiped a smear of blood off his cheek. "I have an idea, but it's risky, and destructive."

"To who?"

"The land and all who're in the way." Murtagh looked at Eragon with a wry smile. "It's a gamble."

Looking around them, at the tired and haggard defenders, Eragon returned the smile with a little grimace. "I think we need that gamble."

Murtagh nodded and moved with Eragon across the field, telling their forces to retreat to the high ground. Not knowing what the two Riders were planning, the Varden obeyed, disengaging and dispatching their opponent before running in a full retreat. The wounded too were removed from the field and Eragon located Trianna to tell her to pull the mages and archers out of the hills. Murtagh stopped in a wide, open space in the field and looked up to the sky.

-Thorn?-

-Why do you call a retreat?- Thorn asked, almost angry.

-Running mount.- Was all Murtagh said. Thorn's understanding swept through him. He felt Thorn tell Saphira the plan and she banked, following Thorn high into the sky. Murtagh turned to Eragon as he sheathed his swords. "Watch my back and get ready to run when I tell you."

"What are you doing?" Eragon asked.

Murtagh sighed painfully. "I'm going to ask the plants to help us. It's going to get messy, and they won't differentiate between allies and enemies."

Eragon gaped at his half-brother for a moment, but his attention was torn away as several Empire foot soldiers rushed the prone Riders. Murtagh stood with his eyes closed and his arms raised to their full extension at chest height. Whatever he was doing, Eragon decided he needed to go faster as more of the Empire's soldiers were closing in around them. There was only the sound of retreat and fighting and Eragon felt his own exhaustion creeping up on him.

-Murtagh! Hurry!-

The earth beneath their feet began to rumble.

The Empire soldiers stopped running, looking around at each other for the source of the strange vibrations. Eragon sheathed Brisingr and looked at Murtagh. His eyes were half-open, his mouth moving in words foreign to the younger man and soon, his arms simply dropped. The rumbling increased almost two fold then and Murtagh whipped around, shoving Eragon ahead of him.

Eragon didn't need to be told twice.

They ran as fast as they could, dodging soldiers as the earth around them began to shift and break apart, letting forth thick roots of grass and trees. Even the cliff-sides began to disintegrate as their foundations became unstable. Eragon's lungs were burning, but he didn't stop. He couldn't stop, but even he knew they weren't going to escape the growing forest of roots. Murtagh grabbed hold of Eragon then and simply jumped. The ground disappeared beneath their feet.

Thorn and Saphira dove for their Riders and wrapped their talons around them as they leveled out, fighting to climb higher and escape the root tangle. Murtagh was laughing hysterically and Eragon felt the infections laughter escape him as well. Their mirth was cut short quickly enough as the roots were set aflame by a sorcerer's spell, and the Empire's surviving soldiers turned to attack the vulnerable defenders. Murtagh climbed into his saddle and steered Thorn for a new charge. Behind, Eragon and Saphira flew higher, ahead, turning to fly straight for Thorn. They would catch the charge on two fronts, burning them with their fires. It was a precise maneuver and required complete trust.

Eragon tightened the saddle straps around his legs and tightened his hold on the saddle-horn. -Finish it, Saphira!-

-With pleasure!-

Saphira let out a tremendous roar as she flew in, a roar echoed by Thorn as he too headed for their target. The thousand Empire soldiers didn't know where to turn, for they were trapped by roots on all sides and had two dragons descending upon them from the front and rear. The destruction would be terrible, Eragon knew, but it would be worth the victory, for they could heal the hurts of the land and continue on.

They were close enough now to see the fear in the eyes of those Immortals trapped within the root tangle, and Saphira inhaled. At the same time, the two dragons unleashed their fire, Murtagh reaching out the same time Eragon did. Each took control of the fire, Murtagh in the ancient language of the elves and Eragon in the ancient language. Saphira and Thorn banked, the former left, the latter right, and their flames became a maelstrom, consuming everything within the cyclone. The Riders broke contact at the same time with the fire, their dragons still spiraling up with the cyclone of flame. Below, Eragon could hear the screams of dying men, cheers of victory, and he twisted in his saddle to look at the destruction.

Murtagh hadn't been lying when he said his solution would be destructive. The earth below lay churned as if worms had burrowed all through the field. The roots lay in knots and tangles, covered in blood and constricting bodies. Even the cliff-sides had crumbled, sagging under some invisible weight. Eragon finally understood the words Murtagh had said long ago, and understood that no life was more important than his own and the lives of those he loved. Saphira flapped tiredly, sharing in her Rider's exhaustion. Thorn flew just ahead, angled toward them as if he were going to fly beside them. Only when Thorn began to rapidly descend did Eragon realize something was wrong.

-Saphira!- He shouted, pointing at the falling red as if she could see his finger.

Giving a cry of absolute terror, the great dragoness bent her wings and dove, racing for Thorn. Murtagh was unconscious in the saddle and Thorn was barely keeping that darkness at bay, fighting to control his descent as Saphira hurried toward him. They were a thousand feet above the ground, five hundred, three hundred –

Saphira's talons grabbed hold of Thorn's wing joints and she pulled with all her strength. Though she was able to slow him, the weight of the larger dragon was too much for her. Her wings snapped back and she lost all control. Clutching one another the two great dragons collided with the earth from a wicked descent at two hundred feet. Eragon felt the impact in his very bones and felt blood fill his mouth. He had no time to dwell where the blood had come from for darkness swept over him and he knew no more.

Eragon awoke to singing and found himself lying in his tent, wrapped head to foot in white linen bandages. Some were soaked with sweat and others pink with blood and his first thought was that he'd almost died. He sat up, pulling off the bandages to inspect the wounds and found most of them already fading scars. The singing stopped and Arya entered the tent.

"You're awake." She said with a smile. "We were sure you'd sleep for another two days."

"What happened?" Eragon asked the elf-maid. "Where's Saphira? And Murtagh?"

"Get dressed." Arya left him alone then, but the way she smiled put Eragon's heart at ease.

He dressed quickly and found Arya waiting for him. The camp was different from the one Eragon remembered, but when he saw the distant shadow of Urû'baen, he realized the Varden had advanced. Arya looked at Eragon as they walked. "Your brother is an amazing man." She said softly. "Not a day after you collapsed at Root Tangle did he wake to lead us here."

"Where's here?" Eragon asked.

Arya gave a slight shrug. "He says there's no name for this place that we'd know. It's the very edge of Du Weldenvarden, closest to Urû'baen as he can get without alerting Galbatorix to our presence. We've had a week of peace."

Eragon blinked, looking past Arya to the rolling hills and the flat plains that would give the defenders an advantage. Arya led him up a large hill and pointed. "Saphira's up there. She wishes to speak with you."

Eragon paused and caught Arya's wrist. He said nothing, just looked at her, before he let her go. She stared at him a moment longer, then turned and hurried back to the Varden camp which swelled with soldiers from all the races of Alagaësia.

He turned and headed up the hill. He found Saphira lying in the shade of a great oak tree, and felt her stir as he approached. Her blue eyes flicked open to meet his and her joy and love washed over him. Grinning, Eragon rushed to her side and threw his arms around her snout in a great hug.

-Oh, little one.- Saphira said with a slight laugh. -I missed you, too.-

"I can't believe I slept for a week!" Eragon exclaimed. "I must've missed so much!"

Saphira chuckled and told him of the slight skirmishes they'd fought, how Murtagh had led them to this stretch of land, and how he was working with the leaders to formulate strategies that would ensure them victory. He even has a plan to rescue my green brother.

Eragon smiled. "He's done more in a few short weeks than we've done the entire time."

"Don't belittle yourself."

Eragon turned to face Murtagh and blinked at his appearance. The older man had pulled his loose dark hair back into a braid, leaving the only free strand the one with the beads and red feather. Behind him stood Thorn, regal and imposing, red eyes focused on Eragon. Murtagh stepped forward slowly. "Don't think you haven't done anything. Without you, Saphira never would've hatched. Without you, none of this would be possible. You're the entire reason these people have hope. I'm just following behind."

Eragon blinked. "You think so?"

"I know so." Murtagh gave a slight shrug. "I've been working in your name. We have to, to work together and keep everyone from losing hope."

Eragon followed Murtagh as the older Rider moved toward the crest of the hill. Down below, Eragon could see picket lines of dwarves and elves, of humans and Urgals, all keeping a careful watch for the Empire. Murtagh focused his eyes ahead to the dim shadow of Urû'baen. "I lost hope once," he started softly, "I lost hope because of the name I carry. But I learned the truth and that lost hope came back. Being the Scion, I can't let anyone else lose hope, either."

"So what will you do?" Eragon asked, looking at his half-brother.

"Fight." Murtagh replied. "I spent my entire young life running away, living in spite and hatred. I'm done with that now."

Eragon looked away from his brother, across the vast distance to that colossal castle. His eyes drifted over the defenders, to the camp behind him. His friends were there, his family was there. And out in the wide world there were people who hoped for freedom. He looked back to Saphira and Thorn, the two dragons lying side-by-side and watching their Riders. They'd never given up on their Riders when they'd felt despair. They continued to believe in their Riders and would follow them to whatever end they chose.

Eragon watched as Elva greeted the elf Saïle, the bearer of Naegling. He watched Arya, the To-Ga-Ir chieftainess Hatori, and Nasuada talk easily as Hatori showed them To-Ga-Ir custom. He saw the shaman Assan standing quietly beside Katrina and Roran as their daughter Moranna slept in her cradle. He saw Nar'Gharhvog speaking with Blödhgarm. All these races, all these people, would never have come together if it weren't for Eragon and Murtagh. The elves never would've marched to war; the Urgals never would've been freed; the Varden and their Dwarven allies would still be in Farthen Dûr; and the To-Ga-Ir would be a forgotten people. How many other races lived out there, waiting for a hero to save them? How many other races had died under Galbatorix's rule? Even the dragons, whose only hope rested with Saphira, would've become a memory if Eragon and Murtagh had never been.

Eragon understood now his choices in the past had reflected on what had been best for him, not the good of the people. Murtagh had understood from the moment he'd struck out on his own his actions would have consequences and he accepted them without flinching. He killed to protect others, he fought to save everyone but himself. His life and Thorn's would always be most important to him, but what good was it if he had no one to share that life with? Eragon clenched his fists and swore there and then he'd become a Rider worthy of being a Scion, that he wouldn't give up until the war was won.

-I, too, promise and swear.- Saphira said, her eyes meeting Eragon's. -We can be selfish during the time of peace.-

Eragon smiled at the great dragoness and turned to look at Murtagh. The older Rider wasn't looking at him, rather had his eyes closed as he stood relaxed beside Eragon. The serenity on his face reminded Eragon of the moon, who shone with the help of the sun. He shook his head to clear the thought. "Murtagh?"

"Yes, Eragon?"

Eragon studied his brother for a moment longer, then turned his gaze to stare out across the land. "What now?"

Murtagh's eyes opened slowly. They focused on Urû'baen, then slid to Eragon. They rested on him for a moment, then shifted to look at Thorn and Saphira. From the dragons, his gaze went to the humans, the dwarves, the To-Ga-Ir, the elves, and lastly the Urgals. Finally, his dark eyes came back to Eragon and focused on his brother's own eyes. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"Now," Murtagh said with a smile. "We finish this."


End file.
